


Discovery

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Series: Haven [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M, Flashbacks, Future Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski - Freeform, M/M, Magic-Users, Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, POV Alternating, Show-level horror and violence, Werewolf Derek, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 06:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: “While there are many who speculate that magical creatures, particularly shape shifters, roam with us, the fact of the matter is we lack substantive evidence to ascertain the existence of any non-human creature of extraordinary ability or unusual nature. Those who claim finding the city of Haven is necessary to prove the existence of shape shifters and other creatures should remember that tales of this city are nothing more than myth. Unlike fairy tales of dragons relying on the misunderstood evidence of dinosaur remains to uphold the mythology, there exists absolutely no solid evidence of anything remotely resembling selkies, werewolves, faeries, vampires,etc.” (Right, W. W., & Johnson, A.S. (19XX). Shape-shifters in Mythology: A Review of Literature at the Intersection of Pop Culture and Post-Graduate Education. Adult Education Quarterly, 98 (3), 35-49)--An Atlantis: The Lost Empire AU where Stiles is determined to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and find the lost magical city of Haven. Little does he know how treacherous the journey will be for him and his friends.





	Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> After basically 4 years of hand wringing I'm throwing in the towel and posting this as it. This is hands down the largest fic I've ever written, clocking in at over 190K so buckle up. This is a long and bumpy ride.
> 
> There's so many people to thank honestly and I'm ashamed to say I've forgotten many of them. But if you cheered me through my nano fics, read this fic, and generally encouraged me to keep writing and/or to post this? This is for you. This is ESPECIALLY for you Coraline, who believed in me, in this fic, all the damn way <3 She also made that GORGEOUS fic banner as a birthday gift ages ago and I'M SO SO EXCITED I GET TO SHOW EVERYONE IT! 
> 
> ** VERY IMPORTANT TO MENTION** that a lot of other things inspired a lot of the visuals and lore for this story. A key post being this one bout [Irish werewolves.](https://nonbinaryalien.tumblr.com/post/64119214863/flatbear-iammelonlordd-violentpurge09-the) [ Please check out the rest of the inspiration posts (and my initial rough notes and shit) on my side blog! ](https://nonbinaryalien.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes.

> “While there are many who speculate that magical creatures, particularly shape shifters, roam with us, the fact of the matter is we lack substantive evidence to ascertain the existence of any non-human creature of extraordinary ability or unusual nature. Those who claim finding the city of Haven is necessary to prove the existence of shape shifters and other creatures should remember that tales of this city are nothing more than myth. Unlike fairy tales of dragons relying on the misunderstood evidence of dinosaur remains to uphold the mythology, there exists absolutely no solid evidence of anything remotely resembling selkies, werewolves, faeries, vampires,etc.” (Right, W. W., & Johnson, A.S. (19XX). Shape-shifters in Mythology: A Review of Literature at the Intersection of Pop Culture and Post-Graduate Education. _ Adult Education Quarterly, 98 (3), _35-49)

* * *

_ Derek cracked his eyes open. Darkness surrounded him, but it wasn’t pitch black. The torch burning outside his cell threw a faint light inside his cell through the small barred window carved into the door. He couldn’t even hold his head up after a few seconds of peering at the bars. It lolled against his chest, feeling like it was stuffed with rocks that smacked against each other painfully. At least the pounding in his head distracted him from the ache in his stomach and the aftertaste of bile and blood lingering in the back of his throat. _

_ Derek closed his eyes, focusing through the pain and discomfort to concentrate on the sounds around him. There were people outside in the hallway. At least four heartbeats. The dizzy feeling sweeping over him made it hard for him to identify the voices. _

_ Another spasm rocked his concentration, setting every nerve in his body on fire. As a werewolf he rarely experienced prolonged periods of hurt, unlike frail human constitutions. He didn't know what they had done to him, how they burned off his ability to control the pain. The agony of it made him feel weak all the way to his bones. Derek wondered, as he shivered and sweated against the cool stone he was chained up against, if this is what human sickness felt like. _

_ Memories of how he ended up like this, bolstered by the penetrating scent of fifth and blood, made his stomach lurch again. Hands clenching and uncurling, Derek forced himself to let go of the memory. In an unamusing twist, the universe sent him an aid to distract himself from the horrible memory. The door creaking loudly as the guard pushed it open. _

_ Three men swept into the room. Men wearing heavy capes that dragged against the wet floor. Despite the poor light, Derek recognized two of them immediately. One of them was Argat. There was no mistaking that cruel smile, graying hair, lipid blue eyes, or the cleft chin. Behind the nobleman was his son, looking as weak and reedy as ever. He was staring at Derek with a greedy kind of anticipation. Like he couldn’t wait for what they were about to do. Derek glanced at the last man but didn’t recognize him. _

_ “Where is she?” Argat asked impatiently, turning towards the door. _

_ Derek followed his gaze and felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The fourth heartbeat he’d heard was the hooded figure stepping into the cell. Immediately the stink of lavender, mint, and a burnt brews filled up the air. _

_ What was a witch she doing down here in the castle dungeons? Were they were going to use her to extract information? Torture him further to get him to confess? _

_ She was tall, Derek noted as she swept into the room and pushed the hood off. Almost as tall as Derek, with a simple kind of beauty that would have been comely were it not for the darkness swirling in her eyes. _

_ A helpless kind of panic began to creep up on Derek, the feeling growing when the witch glanced at him and smiled coolly. Like she was watching a pinned butterfly struggle to escape, knowing full well that only death lay in its future. _

_ Certain whatever was coming would be unbearable, body clinging to the damp stone underneath him, Derek clenched his teeth and preparing for the worst. _

_ “Shall I start?” she asked in a sweet voice. _

_ Argat waved an impatient hand, “Get on with it.” _

_ The witch stepped forward, golden hair shining dully as raised her hands towards and began to chant. _

_ Time stretched and contracted. Pain like he’d never known before flew through him. It felt like… like his blood had turned to heat and cold at the same time. Like his skin was being pierced by hundreds of needles. Like hands were grasping his insides and squeezing the life out of them. _

_ Agony ripped through Derek, causing his wolf to howling frantically. It wasn’t until his throat began to hurt did Derek realize he was actually screaming. He _ was _ howling in pain and terror. _

_ “Harder!” Derek heard Argat urging the witch. “You said this would work!” _

_ “It will!” she snapped, voice rough and dark. “It is almost done.” _

_ What was? Derek wondered blearily, clinging to his chains as blessed darkness finally took over and brought him relief. Derek flitted in and out of consciousness after that. He saw Argat thanking the witch as the third man pulled a knife out of his belt. The next time, he saw a guard walk into his cell with a bucket of water, dumping it on the floor to wash away the blood stain. _

_ He drifted back up when he felt a hand connect with his face. It was a guard, saying something through a thick fog. Derek glanced up wearily into the King’s grief filled face before passing out again. _

_ This time, he wasn’t disturbed for what felt like ages. _

_ When he woke up again, it was because of a familiar scent in the musky dungeon. _

_ “‘saac?” he slurred, tongue heavy against the roof of his mouth. _

_ The door to his cell flew open, cracked and in pieces as it fell down. Rolling his heavy head tiredly, Derek turned towards the noise. And stared at the newcomers. Laura, Isaac and Emily all tumbled into his cell, looking frantic but determined. _

_ Was he imagining things? Was he hallucinating his pack coming to save him? _

_ Laura stayed by the door, keeping watch as Isaac and Emily rushed to free him. _

_ “Thank the gods, we found you!” Isaac whispered, pulling a sharp nail out of one of his pockets. Isaac’s curly hair fell over his eyes as he grabbed Derek’s right hand, frowning as he hurriedly dug the nail through the runes carved into the heavy manacle. Similarly, Emily was holding his left hand and was scratching the runes out that made the silver chains strong enough to hold him in place. “Emily, can you get the collar?” _

_ Dark eyes locked onto the collar, Emily dug her hands into the pouch that was always on her hips. She pulled out a small bottle of Angelica oil. Unsealing it, she wet the tip of her index finger and used the oil to break the rune that had soaked into the material The flowery scent wafted up his nose as she whispered a few words and pressed two fingers against the collar. _

_ This rune broke with an audible crack. The collar fell to the ground, cut in two. Likewise, Derek tipped forward as well. Blood rushed to his head, the pain of relief almost as intense as being locked up, like breaking surface after holding ones’ breath for ages. _ _He fell forward into Isaac’s waiting arms, feeling as weak and shaky as a newborn foal. Derek gratefully accepting Isaac’s offered shoulder as he tried to get up on his own feet. It took him a minute but he eventually managed to stand upright. _

_ “We need to leave. Now!” Laura hissed from the door, frantically waving at the trio. _

_ Emily immediately darted forward, dark braid bouncing against her back. “Derek,” Isaac said quietly, “Your face. You need to shift back. We need to pass you off as human if we have any chance of getting you out of here.” _

_ If Derek weren’t so tired he would have reached out to touch his face and check. He guessed that the pain must have forced the change. And given how he his muscles still trembled in the memory of the pain the witch had forced on him, his wolf still felt threatened enough to force the shift. _ _Inhaling shakily, Derek tried to center himself. He reached for his anchor - pack, family, love. He could feel it inside of him, the calming warmth that kept him linked to his humanity. But it also felt like it was enclosed behind a wall of some kind. Like he could see his anchor but not touch it. _

_ His frown deepened. What was going on? Why couldn’t he change back? Derek reached for his anchor again, slowing his breathing down further. But again it felt like hitting a wall that stretched on forever. He couldn’t invoke the change back to his human face. _

_ Derek opened his eyes, meeting Isaac’s gaze, confusion and fear making his voice shake, “I can't. Something’s wrong.” _

_ Laura’s sharp inhale and muttered curse was a welcome reaction compared to the sudden manner in which Emily and Isaac went pale. “This is going to spoil our getaway plan, let me tell you that, o brother of mine.” Laura grumbled, gesturing for the trio to follow her. “Let’s go. We’ll figure it out on the way. The others are waiting for us and we can’t afford to be late.” _

_ “Late for what?” Derek asked as Isaac helped him through the broken doorway, taking on most of Derek’s weight. He felt his heart sink into his feet at the glance his sisters exchanged, “What happened while I was trapped here?” _

_ Emily’s soft hand on his bare arm was as soothing as her gentle voice. “We need to leave the city, perhaps even the country. After the King found out what happened, he swore an oath to kill all shifters. Especially werewolves.” A low angry noise from Isaac echoed into the dark. “Several of the families have already left. Ours is waiting for us and you. As soon as we meet up, we’re going to the New World.” _

_ Leaving? They were going to leave their home? The country of their birth? The place where their family had been for generations? The thought of leaving, and being the reason behind it, tore at Derek’s insides. Every step brought back a new memory of a place or friend he was never going to see again. _

_ To think that he’d never walks the lofty halls of their manor. Wouldn’t be able to sneak into the kitchens at dawn to drink fresh milk. That he’d never be able to talk and jest with his fellow Knights. Wouldn’t be able to walk down to the stables to feed his mare and take her out for a quick- _

_ “It’s not your fault,” Emily whispered as she threw a heavy cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood up to hide his face. Derek glanced up at her, eyes and heart heavy with grief. “You didn’t do it, did you?” Without waiting for his response, she continues, “So it’s not your fault. We just need to make it to mother and father. Everything will be alright as long as we stick together.” _

_ Her steadfast gaze and earnest voice filled Derek with equal parts shame, hope, and guilt. Shame because he was the older sibling. Emily should be looking to him for support, not the other way around. Hope because yes. Their parents would know what to do. They’d make everything alright. And guilt because no… no, it _ was _ his fault. If it wasn’t for him, this wouldn’t be happening. If only he’d been smarter. Faster. If only… _

_ Derek felt like a collection of fragile stitches holding a bleeding wound closed. Rage and grief made Derek shake, his steps growing less sure as they slipped out a side door that Laura had cracked open with a well-placed kick. That must have been Laura who’d broken his door down then. _

_ The night air was a cool relief that Derek eagerly breathed in. It pushed back the dullness creeping into his brain and made him stand straighter. But Isaac stuck by his side, Emily hovering behind them while Laura led the way. Derek glanced back at the castle, expecting someone to raise the alarm any minute that they had escaped but there was nothing. _

_ Adrenaline and fearful anticipation kept Derek busy for a couple of miles. But when it became clear that no one was giving chase, and they’d slowed down slightly, numbness began to creep back in. _

_ The same numbness that had taken over when he’d stepped into the clearing a few days ago and seen... had seen… _

_ A dark, hopeless feeling swelled up in him with every heartbeat. _

_ ‘_This is my fault_,’ he thought with every heartbeat ‘_All of this is my fault_.’ _

* * *

He had this. 

All he had to do was stick to his notes, not go off track and the grant was his. 

_ ‘Just like we practiced. Speak clearly and boldly.’ _ Stiles reminded himself, tapping his cue cards against the podium before clearing his throat to get the Board’s attention. They turned to him slowly, eyeing him with disinterest but Stiles opted to ignore that.

“Good afternoon.” Stiles began in a confident tone, making sure to meet the eyes of people sitting before him. Yep, they all looked bored out of their minds. But that was going to change quick enough! Stiles was totally going to wow them for sure this time! “First of all, I would like to thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to hear my proposal. I’d like to get right to it.

Now, I’m sure that you’ve all heard of the legend of Haven, the fabled hidden city that is said to be the home of shape shifters and magical creatures alike. If you believe everything that’s been said about the city then you can find all kinds of shifters there, such as werewolves, kanimas, skin-walkers, changelings and even nahual’s.”

One of the board members sighed. Another one checked her watch. They all still looked bored out of their skulls. Stiles moved on to the next slide, a faded painting of a kingly man seated on a stone throne, turning to face the large projection screen as he spoke, “There isn’t much that we know about the city or how it was founded, but most stories agree that the city was established a little over two centuries ago as a safe haven for magical creatures, who were methodically and systematically hunted by an elite army put together by King Briaine. We already know that King Briaine was ruthless in his fight against the supernatural, going so far as to eliminate four of the biggest covens of that time just to further his goals.”

Stiles moved on to the next slide, the urge to bounce with glee strong he finally got to the nitty gritty of it. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why am I talking about Haven when it’s just a fairy tale, a bedtime story for kids. But that may not be true!” Stiles pointed at the projector, letting the images flash by. “There are many cultures and old texts who speak of this hidden city and the powerful wards that supposedly protect the city itself, as well as the inhabitants. Many of these mythologies and texts speculate that Haven has a vast library that contains the history of all magical creatures, as well as magics that are now considered to be lost.”

He shot a sharp grin at the hawkish, thin lipped, unhappy looking woman in the front row as excitement bubbling in his chest. “My proposal, ladies and gentlemen, is simple: we find Haven, and the lost magics they have, and share it with the modern world. There is no doubt in my mind that we will be able to drastically change and improve our world with this ancient knowledge. All we-”

“Ahem,” The delicate sound of someone clearing their throat gave Stiles pause. “This is all fascinating Mr. Stilinski,” the Edgar Allan Poe look alike drawled. “But how do plan on _ finding _ this city when no one else has ever been able to?” 

If the man didn’t hold the fate of Stiles’ dreams in his hands, he would have glared at the jerk’s smug tone. Instead Stiles forced himself to smile and skip a few slides ahead. “I’m glad you asked. If I can direct your attention towards the image on the screen. Here a mage of the Great Magicians Order speaks of a diary that is purportedly a first-hand account of Haven written by a Dr. Fenris. Dr. Fenris was a member of the Order who was not only found the city, but also spent many years there. In his dairy, Dr. Fenris wrote about his experiences which include a detailed guide to Haven’s location.”

Hawk-lady looked kind of interested while the others squinted at the text displayed on the projector screen. They were finally interested in what he had to say. All he had to do was close the deal and the grant was as good as his. 

“And where can we find this magical diary?” Edgar Allan Poe asked again. 

Stiles pointed towards the screen, “I’m glad you asked that! Based on a newly contextualized century’s old translation of a Norse text, historians thought the final resting place of this diary is Iceland. However!” Stiles waited for the next slide and the close up pictures of the Viking shield to come up before continuing, “If you compare this text,” he patted the lines scribbled on the board behind him, “to the writing on the shield, it becomes apparent that there has been an error in translation. One of the letters to be exact. Meaning that the true location of the diary is not a proto-celtic name for _ Iceland _ . Rather it’s _ Īveriū _ , meaning _ Ireland _.” 

Edgar Allan Poe was now squinting at the board. The guy next to him was staring at the projector with all the enthusiasm of a sloth being told that it had to move from its favorite branch. Hawk-lady looked more skeptical than his dad when Stiles had told him that kale could be tasty and the other two ladies... were texting. 

Dammit, he’d lost their attention. He wanted to scrub his face in frustration. He didn't understand why this happened every time. He tried so hard to dumb the facts down and make them easily consumable, but somehow no one in the room knew enough to be excited! (Frankly he couldn’t understand how anyone _ couldn’t _ be excited at the idea of a lost magical city, but that was another story). And these were the people the world was relying on to make this dream a reality. The irony and injustice of it grated at his nerves, but he continued, undaunted. 

“I would like to take a team with me to Ireland and search for-”

“I think we’ve heard enough.” Phone lady #2 sighed, glasses flashing as she looked up. “Mr. Stilinski. While I applaud your enthusiasm and dedication to this topic, the fact of the matter is that we only fund those scientific expeditions that are rooted in _ fact, _ not legends and fairy tales. And what you’re suggesting is a dual-expedition I’m assuming? Our institution doesn’t have that kind of money. Much less for people chasing fairy tales.”

Was that sound of a door closing somewhere in the back or just his brain providing the sound effect? Dismay flooded Stiles when the others nodded and murmured in agreement. 

“B-but I have new evidence here that _ proves _ the existence of-”

“Mr. Stilinski.” Edgar Allan Poe cut in silkily, folding his hands on top of the table. “Most of your so called evidence is rooted in folklore, second hand accounts of explorers, whose existence is also dubious at best. They can hardly be considered reliable, stone cold, indisputable facts. We have pointed this out to you in your previous proposals as well.”

Hawk lady nodded emphatically. “We understand and appreciate the fact that you are trying to fulfill your grandfather’s legacy. He would be proud of how you continue to strive in this area. But you must understand that this grant money is for serious professionals. I would advise you to lay this cause down and take up a more serious topic. You have a very promising career ahead of you Mr. Stilinski and it would be a shame if you squandered it away like Alexis Stilinski.” 

* * *

The music was way too loud and the crowd even louder. The pub wasn’t usually this rowdy and typically Stiles didn’t mind this kind of noise level, but he’d had a shit day. Stiles gave the coven of witches in the corner of the room a dirty glare, wondering what the hell had brought the huge, loud, obnoxious group out. Probably celebrating new initiations or a coming of age ceremony from the sound of it.

Scott’s indignant, “She didn’t!” snapped Stiles back to the conversation he was supposed to be having.

Gesturing to his best friend, Stiles shouted over the noise, “She did! Flat out said that Grandpa had wasted his life by, and I quote, ‘chasing after fairy tales that made him a laughing stock of the magical academics community’.” Scott made another angry noise at that. It was nice actually that Scott was just as enraged as he was. Then again, they both had fond memories of sitting next to Grandpa, listening to him tell all kinds of stories about magical creatures that lived in Haven.

“And she said that you shouldn’t ruin your career like he did?” Scott asked, taking a long drink from his glass, “Straight up, said it?”

Frowning into his beer, Stiles nodded again. “Yeah. Said I should stick to teaching college kids linguistics and decoding ancient texts that ‘might come in handy someday for a real scientist’.” He flicked his fingers after making quotation marks in the air, the slimy feeling of Text Lady #1’s words still hanging on him. 

“That is bullshit!” his best friend declared loudly, “I don’t get how all these people justified turning their back on your grandpa! The guy was one of the most honest people out there and just...” With a disgusting shake of his head, Scott drained the last of his beer before slamming the glass down on the table. 

Stiles knew exactly what his best friend was talking about. It was unfair that a man, who only wanted to prove the existence of something legendary and fantastic, could turn into such a joke to most of his peers.

“This sucks.” Scott mumbled, anger draining away with the last chords of the song playing overhead. “Another rejection.”

“Another rejection.” Stiles sighed, pushing his glass away. He didn’t know why he thought it’d be a good idea to drink his anger away when he was a melancholic drunk. Granted, it felt great to bitch about the whole thing with Scott – it was always so cathartic - but at the end of it, he felt a hollow and profoundly guilt for having failed his grandfather’s legacy yet again. 

Not to mention the hangover he was going to enjoy tomorrow. 

Sliding a hand across his brow, Stiles sighed, exhausted. “How the hell can I keep my promise to grandpa when I can’t even get people to actually listen to my pitch, let alone fund the expedition?” 

There was a raucous peel of laughter from the coven, followed by a loud hoot that made most of the bar turn around and give them curious looks. “Maybe you could do get a loan.” Scott mused, frowning at the wall behind Stiles. “Or hey, there’s always private funding! There’s _ got _ to be some rich people out there who’d be willing to give you money! Like that guy in Jurassic Park! You just gotta find someone who’s really into finding Haven.” 

He smiled at his best friend, feeling better already as Scott spoke. His friend had the right idea. Just because one avenue had been closed to him didn’t mean that Stiles should give up. He flagged a waiter down, ordered another round of beer and dedicated himself to brainstorming with Scott.

Stiles’ mood improved the more drunk they got and Scott’s ideas became more and more outrageous. The noise from their table didn’t have anything on the coven but they made a valiant effort to be just as obnoxious as the witches, eliciting dirty looks from the guy sitting behind Scott, all night. Every time Stiles would make a face back because hey, he had had one hell of a crappy day and he deserved to unwind. Once they started singing they drove the guy off for good, but Stiles had a great voice, so the guy could shove it. 

The fantastic mood inspired him to tip his taxi driver a full 20 dollars, much to the man’s delight. Don’t drink and drive, Stiles took his father’s lessons seriously, thank you very much. Or well, selected lessons anyways. It all kind of depended on the situation on hand. 

As he stumbled upstairs, Stiles decided he’d call his dad the next day and tell him about what had happened. He was glad that he hadn’t told dad about the meeting now. If dad had known then he would have called by now, eager to hear what had happened. And the only that Stiles hates worse than letting down his best friends? Is letting down his dad. And his dad would have been so incredibly disappointed to know that Stiles had been shot down yet again.

Sighing, feeling more morose than before, Stiles pulled his keys out as he approached his door. 

’_Huh. Look at that_.’ He’d forgotten to lock the door behind him on the way out this morning. He had pushed the niggling sensation of having forgotten something away this morning when he’d been on his way out. Stiles had chalked it up to nerves, more preoccupied with his presentation than anything else. But it looked like that feeling had been right for once. 

Due to the late hour, Stiles slowly opened his front door to avoid it from creaking. It was a strange contraption because no amounts of grease or magic made the damn thing stop creaking as loud as it could. His next door neighbor, Mrs. Edna, complained that she could hear the noise all the way into her bedroom. 

The door creaked minimally, thankfully. But as he stepped inside, the door slipped out of his hand and slammed shut hard. The loud bang that reverberated in the air made Stiles wince apologetically. Hopefully Mrs. Edna hadn’t heard that, or wouldn’t know it was him. 

She kept saying she had sensitive ears and as such kept complaining about how “damned loud that Stilinski kid is”. Stiles was of the opinion that the woman just hated him and wanted to drive him out of the complex.

He wasn’t loud! The idea was very ludicrous. How could he be loud when he spent most of his day at the university, either teaching classes or grading papers? He was only home on the weekends and even _ then _, Stiles tended to sleep in.

_ ‘What’re the chances she’s gonna come by at 7 in the morning and yell at me for banging doors so loudly I’m going to bring the building down?’ _ Stiles mused, making a bet with himself that if his prediction came true, he’d treat himself to a coffee and a raspberry muffin from the good bakery three blocks away. And if not then he’d enjoy uninterrupted sleep and a wicked hangover when he woke up. Good thing he’d had the foresight to take the next day off.

He patted the wall, searching for the light switch that was supposed to be a couple of inches away from the Mickey Mouse shaped keys holder he’d hammered by the door. His fingers fumbled, finding the button. He pressed it, but the lights didn’t flicker on as expected. Stiles glared up at ceiling light, flipping the switch on and off a couple of more times before grumbling, “Perfect.” 

This was the cherry atop his crappy day sundae.

Being drunk and in the dark made navigation down even the short hallway an adventure in toe stubbing. And no, the crappy light from his cell phone screen totally didn’t count because it was so dim Stiles couldn’t even make out his high tops clearly. After three years of living in the same apartment, you’d think Stiles would know where to put his foot down. But the floor being littered with all kinds of junk made it impossible for Stiles to walk with confidence. 

Stiles could make out several piles of books, a few pairs of shoes, _ oh _ ! So _ that’s _ where his satchel was! He’d been wondering where he’d thrown that thing.

Stumbling on what looked like his empty laundry basket, Stiles muttered, “I really gotta clean this place up tomorrow.” 

Once in the living room, Stiles debated between navigating through his messy apartment in the dark and pulling the curtains open, guaranteeing light to come pouring inside from the street lamp outside, or trying another light to see if it was the hallway light or the electricity to his apartment that was the issue. 

The first option was a good one but he honestly feared bodily injury if he tried to walk through his apartment in the dark. At the very least, he’d hurt himself. At the very most, he’d wind up ruining some ancient book in the process though. The thought of accidentally ruining one of his books made Stiles decide to move towards the table lamp. It was just a few steps away and it would shed more than enough light for him to navigate to the kitchen, grab a bottle of water. 

Then maybe check his email and do a quick search to find any more institutes or private organizations who funded expeditions and stuff. If there were people out there digging in the middle of nowhere in the hopes of finding conclusive evidence that dragons co-existed with dinosaurs then _ surely _Stiles could find some eccentric billionaire to who would be inspired by the legends of Haven, just like he was. 

He fumbled his way over to the study table, nearly crashing into it when he stumbled on what felt like a pile of magazines. Or books. Or a very large stack of papers. It could be anything really. “Clean up on Saturday.” Stiles declared to the dark room, throwing his wallet and cell phone down before his fingers searching for the on button on the lamp base. Where was the damn kno- Ah!

Dusty gold light spilled over the room immediately, highlighting the ‘organized’ chaos that Stiles lived in. As well as a woman sitting calmly in his arm chair by the window.

“What the hell!” Stiles blurted out, hand darting to the back of his belt where he kept a vial of his special blend defensive oil tucked away for emergency use. Drunkenness forgotten in the wake of panic, Stiles had the bottle in hand, uncorked and top pressing against in index finger, his eyes trained on the blonde intruder. “Who the hell are you? And how the hell did you get in here?” 

Seriously, how the hell had she gotten in? The apartment was heavily warded. Even if the door had been unlocked, she still shouldn’t have been able to get in and make herself at home. He’d renewed them just last week, double checking the booby traps that would go off should any stranger cross the threshold without his permission.The only people who could come into his apartment without being horribly gooped were his father, Scott, and Allison. 

He stared at the blonde, wondering why she was smiling at him so calmly at him despite his clearly defensive stance. Could she be strong enough to break his wards? If she was strong enough to break his wards, maybe she was smiling because she was about to hurt him. Holy shit, Stiles felt a chill slither down his spine. She wasn’t a serial killer was she? Was this how he was going to die? 

“Came in through the front door.” The woman answered, voice rich and smooth like honey. Her eyes swept over the messy apartment, lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I gotta say, it’s the first time I’ve met a magic user who forgot to activate his wards when he wasn’t home.”

Say what? Stiles glared at the woman, becoming more uneasy the longer she seemed so _at ease _ in his apartment. The casualness with which she was poking fun at him _did_ _not_ help. 

“That’s not possible,” he snapped, “I _ always _ activate the wards before leaving.”

The relaxed shrug she gave him said ‘have it your way’ clearer than the words themselves. She even leaned back and daintily crossed her legs, looking like a queen on a throne than an intruder in his home. 

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Stiles inched towards the rune etched into the doorway frame. He pressed the middle finger of his left hand against the swooping curve of the carved design. It wasn’t thrumming with energy the way it was supposed to be if it had been activated or tripped. The singular urge to band his head into the wood swept over him because not only had he forgotten to lock his damn front door in the morning, he’d even forgotten to activate the security runes! 

If his dad ever found out about this? He’d _ kill _ him for letting his guard down.

“Told you,” the woman said, grinning wide, “Why don’t you sit down Stiles,” She motioned at the sofa across from her, waiting for him to sit down. Warily, Stiles came closer until he was standing behind the green and white monstrosity he’d picked up at a garage sale. He’d feel safer having something between himself and this lady who felt like she could just waltz into his apartment. 

The lady cocked an eyebrow, amused by his caution. Everything about the woman, Stiles noted to himself, felt predatory. From her dangerously sweet smile to the burnished gold of her perfectly kept hair, down to the too casual way she leaned forward and showed off her cleavage. 

She reminded Stiles of a lioness ready to pounce on her unsuspecting prey. “My name is Kate Argent. I’m here on behalf of my father, Gerard Argent, who is ready to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime. That is, if you’re seriously interested in finding Haven.”

That was quite a hook she had just dangled in front of him. Was he interested? Was the sky blue? Did and anteater like ants? 

“I’m listening.” Stiles replied, taking his finger off the uncapped vial but still keeping it in his fist. He stayed behind the sofa still. No sense lowering his complete guard. 

The scent of sandalwood and amber rising out of the thin necked bottle made a fact click neatly into place. ‘_Wait a minute_.’ His entire body jerked when his brain finally processed the ‘Argent’ part of her name. 

“You’re not related to _ Allison _Argent. Are you?”

Kate tilted her head, smile still in place. “You know my niece?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles shook his head before answering, “She’s married to my best friend.”

“Oh yes. Scott McCall.” She nodded. “Good boy. Hard worker.” 

He was a hell lot more than that but Stiles held his tongue. He remembered Scott talking about Allison’s favorite aunt. Scott had described her as ‘Really awesome. She’s some kind of traveler-explorer-hunter and is always going to all these places around the world. She’s kind of intense though. But Allison really loves her. They’re like sisters or something instead of, you know, aunt and niece.’ 

For his part, Stiles had never met the lady, not even at the McCall-Argent wedding - he’d honestly been too busy with one of the bridesmaids to notice anyone else. So all he knew about Kate, came from stories that Scott would tell him.

“So, uh. What was that about an opportunity of a lifetime?” he asked, finally sitting down. If Scott trusted her, then Stiles could too. To a reasonable extent, until he could make up his own mind. Besides, he wasn’t going to kick out someone who was willing to find his research! He was willing to put up with some (creepy) eccentricity if it meant getting the necessary backing.

Kate’s answer to his question was to somehow convince his half-sober ass into getting him into her car and driving off for who knew where. Stiles could hear his dad berating him for being so careless in the back of his head. 

On the bright side, she’d given Stiles just enough time to activate the wards before grabbing him by the jacket sleeve and dragging him down to the sub-basement parking garage. He’d also shot Scott a quick message before leaving, explaining what was happening (and in case he didn’t hear from Stiles in the morning, please call 911).

The downside was that all his questions were being ignored or smoothly avoided. And while he hated being blown off that way, he was still stuck in the car with Kate till they arrived at their destination. Which he did not know and Stiles realized ten minutes later with a groan, he’d forgotten his cell phone at home - he’d left it on face down on the table after shooting Scott a text. All that was left for him to do was to cross his arms and sulk quietly. 

The trip lasted at least another twenty minutes, during which Stiles’ pride did epic battle with his urge to keep asking questions. He came out of his thoughts when the car rolled to a stop before a large set of iron gates. Stiles stared at the huge shield with a jumping stag carved into it, wondering what kind of statement the homeowner wanted to make with that design. He turned to ask Kate this but she was leaning back into the car, tucking a card back into her jacket.

The key card reader outside her window beeped, red light turning green before the gates began to smoothly roll open. Stiles frowned and asked, “That seems unnecessary.”

“It’s very necessary,” Kate answered unhelpfully.

Stiles frowned harder and glanced up the driveway. And felt his jaw drop because he’d just laid eyes on one of the most ostentatious homes he’d ever seen. It was a manor. A proper manor! The kind you saw in old period shows where lords and ladies lived!

He’d known that the Argent’s were rich, after all, they were only the biggest name in security, defense and weapons R&D this side of Texas, but _ this _ rich? 

Sure Allison and Scott’s wedding had made it clear Allison came from a wealthy family, but she never acted like someone who came from this kind of privilege. In a way it made him like Allison even more.

It also made sense why Scott suggested a private benefactor - he knew one. Stiles suddenly wondered if Scott was behind this visit. But he quickly decided no, Scott would have mentioned Kate’s potential visit instead of keeping Stiles in the dark.

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from whistling long and low they pulled up in front of the building. It was more impressive up front. It reminded him of Wayne Manor in all its glory. The gargoyles didn’t help that impression either, Stiles thought with a grin. He counted three floors, but lost count of how many windows there were as Kate turned the car off and stepped out.

_ ‘How many rooms does this place have?’ _ Stiles wondered to himself, jumping out of the car because he obviously wasn’t allowed to ask Kate. _ ‘A hundred or something? I wonder how many people live here. God, how much staff would you need to keep a place like this going? I wonder if they have maids and butlers? How many people live here?’ _

Resolving to ask Allison all these questions, and more, the next time they met, Stiles hurried up the steps after Kate.

“This way.” Kate crooked a finger over her shoulder, sweeping past the stiff looking butler who held the door open for them. Holy _ shit _. They had actual butlers here. Would it be rude if he took a picture of the guy? “Keep up Stiles. You don’t want to keep my father waiting.” Kate called, forcing him to jog across the foyer to catch up to Rude Aunt Kate.

Several long hallways and a few staircases later, they paused in front of a highly impressive set of double doors. Before Stiles could finish admiring the gorgeous gold gilding, Kate demanded his attention by turning around to face him. It didn’t help that there was barely a foot between them. 

“There’s a few rules you need to know before you meet my father. You’ll call him Mr. Argent. Unless he tells you to sit down, you will remain standing. Don’t babble. Stick to the point. And don’t break anything. Got it?”

The sharp look in her eyes made Stiles suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the dangerous situation he’d gotten himself into. He was standing in a total stranger’s house with nothing to defend himself with except a single vial of oil. He was frozen for a moment before he forced himself to nod hesitantly in agreed. The last vestiges of his alcohol induced excitement finally worn off. 

He was stone cold sober as he wrapped his fingers around the bottle of oil still in his pocket. If push came to shove, he could use it to scrawl a defensive rune and get the hell out the mansion. He could make a run for the gate and hide in the foliage before hoofing it. Or he could find a room with a phone and call 911. Place this fancy had to have a landline somewhere, right?

Kate seemed pleased with his silence and pushed the doors open. Expecting them to creak open under their own considerable weight, Stiles was surprised they opened smoothly and quietly. Something about how silent it was felt horror movie-esque. But he forgot his horror when he saw what the room was.

Staring into the largest private library he had ever seen, Stiles ogled the bookshelves that were literally floor to ceiling. _ Jesus_. The ceiling _ had to be _ had to be almost fifteen feet high. The academic geek in him wept at the mere idea of having a personal library like this. God. He’d give his left kidney to have _ half _ this! 

_ ‘Ain’t it grand to be rich?’ _ Stiles mused while taking a few tentative steps into the room. 

So caught up was he at the sight of all those books that Stiles missed the doors closing behind him. It was only when Stiles turned to ask Kate whose collection this was and how many book were they that he realized he was alone in the room.

At least, as far as Stiles could tell there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Where the hell was Mr. Argent then if he wasn’t already here? Was he going to join Stiles soon? Stiles eyed the ornate gold plated door handle, willing Mr. Argent to turn the handle and walk in. But that didn’t work, so he sighed and went back to examining the library.

It looked like it was going to just him, Mr. Argent, and all these creepy looking busts, statues, and books. Assuming that Mr. Argent was going to show up anytime soon. God, he hoped the man wasn’t going to jump out of the shadows or something. What were the odds the man was observing him from somewhere. Like from behind a painting like the villains did in those old Scooby-Doo cartoons?

Jeez he was starting to get paranoid. The bad lighting, Stiles decided, didn’t help that feeling. He walked back to the door, checking the space around it for a switch panel but there wasn’t one there. He moved against the wall in search of one but there didn’t seem to be one near the set of double doors. 

Soon enough, Stiles decided to give up and head towards the fireplace that seemed to the main source of light in the giant room. Rich people and their crazy ways. Stiles shook his head, wondering what kind of an electricity and heating bill the Argents' paid every month. It must be _ insane _. 

Actually, come to think of it, Stiles really didn’t want to know. He had a feeling that if he even glanced at it, he’d pass out. 

Instead, Stiles turned his attention towards the line of pictures placed on the mantle. There were many faces he didn’t recognize so he moved past them quickly. There were a few pictures of Allison there, however - one with Kate, another with her parents, one he remembered from her wedding day. 

He was shocked to notice another familiar face tucked away near the back. Stiles frowned and reached a hand out to pluck the dark frame out of the group, staring at the two old men grinning at the camera before whispering, “Grandpa?”

“Mr. Stilinski!” A new voice rang across the room, making him jump in surprise. 

His hands tightened around the frame and Stiles was horribly tempted to yell that he was sick and tired of being startled! And that he would appreciate it if every Argent wore a damned bell or got a butler to announce their presence before they snuck up on him. 

But Stiles bit down on his tongue and forced himself to smile instead as Gerard Argent walked into the room from a door on the side of the room. The man had aged considerably since the time the picture Stiles was holding was taken. At least a decade, if not more. “I’m so _ glad _ you made it. Gerard Argent, pleased to meet you.”

Fumbling with the frame, Stiles quickly freed his right hand and held it out towards the older man. “Stiles Stilinski, the pleasure’s all mine. Ummm. You knew my grandfather?” 

He couldn’t have stopped himself from sound so quietly hopeful even if he had wanted too. There weren’t a lot of people that his grandfather spent time with, less than a handful really and Stiles had met all of them. Finding out that there was someone else out there who had known his grandfather was... kind of like finding two prizes at the bottom of a cereal box instead of one.

Gerard’s glassy eyes went down to the picture frame in Stiles’ hands. “I did indeed. He was the finest explorer I had ever met. He never let his age hold him back. I remember him always being in the thick of things. Alexis never did like having to stay behind when he could be at the front lines.” Stiles smiled softly at Gerard’s words. Yep, that definitely sounded like his grandpa.

“Please. Have a seat,” Gerard motioned to an uncomfortable looking sofa covered in a paisley print that probably cost more than his annual salary. Stiles waited for the older man to sit down before perching himself on the corner of a red lounge chair instead. It sadly was a lot more uncomfortable than it looked. 

Gerard smiled placidly at him, hands crossed in his lap. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked you to come here?” 

Yeah sure, Stiles was wondering that. If by wondering the man meant Stiles was out of his mind with curiosity and was barely holding all his questions in because seriously, what the hell was going on already? 

“If you would look at the package, on that table over there.” Stiles turned to look at what Gerard pointed to. It was a table a couple of feet away from where they were sitting, next to a large bust. With a cautious glance at Gerard, Stiles pushed himself to his feet and walked over to a circular table. Apollo’s sightless eyes stared past him, ignoring the sharp inhale Stiles made when he saw there was a parcel sitting on top of a pile of papers with his name on it. 

His real name. In a very familiar handwriting.

Picking it up, Stiles tilted it to catch the firelight because it couldn’t be...

It couldn’t!

But there it was. It was his grandfather’s hand writing. There was even his grandfather’s name scribbled in the corner where the return address should have been -- Alexis Stilinski. 

“This is from my grandfather?” He asked, confused, looking to Gerard for answers, “What is it?”

Gerard nodded gravely, “He left that in my care, with the instructions that should anything happen to him I was to give it to you. With the added stipulation of when you were ‘ready’, though he never specified exactly what that meant.” 

Gerard’s reedy laugh, as amused and indulgent as it sounded, did not inspire any mirth in Stiles. He turned his attention back to the parcel, fingers quickly tearing the brown paper away to reveal a thick leather bound book.

_ ‘What the hell?’ _ Stiles wondered, frowning hard as he flipped it open, realizing quickly it was upside down.

Turning it right side up, Stiles glanced over the open page. His frown morphed into surprise when he realized that the book was written in a foreign language, what was this? He’d never seen this circular script before? But these lines looked familiar… 

Why would his grandfather leave behind a book that was...

_ ‘It can’t be_.’ Stiles thought, breath hitching.

With his heart in his throat, Stiles quickly flipped back to the opening page and stared at the title. 

“This is...” he began breathlessly, hands shaking as he glanced up at Gerard, who was smiling indulgently back at him, “This is Dr. Fenris’ diary.” Stiles felt dizzy. Actually _ dizzy _ . He stared down at the spidery handwriting and then back up at Gerard. “This book is the _ key _ to finding the hidden city of Haven.”

The old man laughed, low little chuckles tumbling over one another. “Haven,” Gerard shook his head, “I might be old but I’m not _ that _ old that you can fool me into thinking that city is anything more than a bedtime story.”

His words were like water off a ducks back for Stiles who was already busily flipping through the diary. “This has everything we’d need - a starting point, coordinates maybe, clues. It’s all right here!”

“Is it now?” Gerard’s silky tone pulled Stiles out of the whirlwind his brain had been caught up in. It might have been a trick of the light, or his imagination running wild, but there was a sharp, dangerous edge to Gerard’s smile when he beckoned Stiles over. “Let’s see it then. Show me your proof.”

Stiles moved immediately, motivated by the hope of finally convincing someone who might have the power to make things happen. He quickly placed the book into Gerard’s outstretched hand. He couldn’t take his eyes off the page even as the old man bent over to look at it. “Looks like gibberish to me. A child’s scribbles. No point if we can’t read it.” Gerard said dismissively, handing the book back.

“It’s just _ Thedan script, _ ” Stiles explained, thumbing through the pages. “And I think some of it, yeah, there’s some _ Pictish _ here too. It’s not gibberish to me.”

“Even so, I doubt that it’s the real thing.”

A good part of his enthusiasm gave way to a quick rush of anger. He had to hold himself back from directing it at Gerard’s flippant dismissal. “With all due respect Mr. Argent, I think that if this was a fake my grandfather would have known it. He wouldn’t have made the effort to leave this behind for me. I’m ready to bet my life that this is the real deal and that it will help me find Haven.” 

Holding his hands up in a gesture of peace, Gerard lowered them down into his lap. “What do you plan on doing then?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question. 

Stiles stared at the diary, at the cracked leather and all the secrets hidden inside it. Of the incredible opportunity that lay in his hands. He knew what he had to do. He just… needed to make a plan for it. His brain began to click gears together, moving in five different directions as he stammered, “Well -- I -- I guess I’ll find funding. There’s the university’s-”

“They’ll never believe you.”

Stiles clenched his teeth, fingers tightening around the diary. “I’ll _ show _ them! I’ll _ make _them believe!”

“Like you did today?”

“Yes -- No! Wait...” Stiles stared in surprise at the old man. “How did you... No! That’s not important.” It might have been a damned stupid thing to do but Stiles slammed his hand down onto the nearest table before grinding out, allowing the day’s frustration to come out. “I don’t care what it takes! I will find Haven on my own! I don’t care if I have to drive to wherever the hell it is in my _Jeep_! But I **will** find it! With or without anyone’s help!”

Stiles glared at Gerard Argent for several long seconds. Just enough time for his ire to cool down into a cold thread of fear, twisting around his stomach. Crap. Did he just lose his cool with some crazy, powerful millionaire friend of his grandfathers who probably had a shit ton of arsenal hidden in his house? Was this guy going to throw him out for being a rude asshole? 

And why the hell was he smiling at Stiles like that anyways? It was downright _ creepy_.

“That was _ just _ what I was hoping you’d say.” Gerard Argent declaring, pushing himself up to his feet with an eager smile. Stiles staggered back a few steps as the man swept past him, heading towards another part of the room. “You can forget about your Jeep though,” Gerard said over his shoulder. “We’ll be doing this the right way.”

Feeling much like Alice probably felt before tumbling down the rabbit hole, Stiles let Gerard’s shadow guide him through a doorway and into another room that had a huge table in the center of it. It was garishly ornate but _ seriously _ huge. And it was littered with papers and scale size models of trucks, RVs, camping equipment and -- was that a hot air balloon?!

He looked up at Gerard questioningly because what the hell was going on? Stiles was handed a folder in return. 

“It took us some time but we’ve managed to get everything ready for this journey.”

Stiles stood next to the old man, staring at him rather than at the folder’s contents, wondering what kind of game Gerard was playing, “Why? Why would you do this...”

Gerard smiled at him. It seemed like the first genuine smile Stiles had seen on the man. “Your grandfather used to talk a lot about Haven. And of course about this diary and how vital it was to finding the city. He kept trying to convince me that they both were real. Not that I believed him mind you. But one day I got so tired of hearing his speeches that I made a bet with him. I told him that if he could find the diary then I’d fund the expedition to find the damned city. You can imagine how shocked I was when he proved me wrong. Your grandfather may be long gone but I’m a man of my word.”

Stiles wasn’t sure how to feel about this. Any and all of it. It was too good to be true. This was better than all his birthdays and Christmases wrapped up together into one leather bound journal. 

“B-but, you’d need to put together a crew for this-”

“Already done.” Gerard pulled out another folder, flipping it open and spreading the papers within. Stiles stared down at Scott’s picture. Right next to it was Allison! And Kate as well… The rest of the people weren’t familiar to him. The red head was pretty thought. As was the tanned guy with the dimpled smile. “You already know Allison and Scott. The rest of the team are experts in their field. Lydia Martin being experts in more than a few areas. You’ll be in good hands.” 

Picking up the paper with Scott’s picture pinned to, Stiles went over the information quickly before checking Allison’s sheet as well. His friends were Camp Supervisors, responsible for looking after the crew as a whole. Scott’s additional responsibility included being one of the team medics. 

Then there was some guy called Matt Daehler, responsible for documenting the journey, Danny ‘Dimples’ Mahealani, in charge of communications and all things tech. The pretty red-head called Lydia Martin, who looked very familiar, was in charge of demolition, explosives, and a few other things. 

And then there were the Argents. Kate Argent was in charge of security, and she was second in command to Gerard. Stiles wasn’t sure how he felt about that but he supposed he didn’t have much of a choice. But given the fact that he was the one who was going to lead the way, which meant he’d be pretty high up in the chain of command too right? He was probably going to have to report directly to Gerard. 

A sudden thought occurred to Stiles, making him lower the papers in his hands and shoot Gerard a curious look, “Where was the journal found, by the way?” 

Smiling a smug little smile, like he knew why Stiles had asked the question, Gerard answered, “Ireland.” 

Stiles whooped, elation sweeping through his body. “I _ knew _ it! I was _ right! _” Stiles pumped his fists into the air with delight before remembering where he was and whose company he was in. 

Thankfully, Gerard seemed amused by his enthusiasm. “All we need now is someone who can read that journal and guide us to the city. Are you going to come with us Mr. Stilinski?”

Why did that question seem to come from a million miles away? Stiles braced his hands on the table, taking comfort in how bracing the cool wood felt under his hands. 

“This is really real,” he murdered to himself, glancing down again at Scott’s beaming face. This was... this was really happening. Somehow his grandfather had succeeded in finding _ the _ Fenris diary. His grandfather’s dream wasn’t going to be a dream for much longer. It was going to become reality. Soon. Stiles was going to actually _ find Haven _! 

Stiles hadn’t felt so overwhelmed in all his life. 

There was so much to do and in so little time. 

Stiles sucked in a long shaky breath as he tried to get his bearings, “Okay. Okay, if I’m going then I need to wrap some stuff up. I’ll have to apply for a leave of absence from my job, do something about my place, tell my dad, get all the things I’d need for this trip...” 

Oh jeez, he was already getting a headache thinking about all the things he’d have to do to get ready for the expedition. God, his landlord was going to give him so much flack for breaking his lease early. Stiles probably wasn’t going to get his security deposit back either. Would his dad agree to hold his stuff while he was away? 

Gerard leaned over to sweep the employee files into his hands, tapping them against the flat surface before slipping them back into their file. “Understandable. Whatever help you need, we’re here to help.” 

A restless sensation of eager anticipation was singing in his veins. It was unlike any other sensation in the world. It made Stiles feel like he had accidentally had one too many energy tonics while chugging down some alcohol, after popping some Adderall and topping it off with a few energy drinks. Stiles felt ready to jump out of his skin in excitement. 

Despite how much work and preparation he had to do double-time in the next few weeks, Stiles was ready for this. This was the culmination of his grandfather’s work. Of all his efforts. Stiles was going to prove all the nay-sayers wrong and restore his grandfather’s good reputation in the academic community.

“How soon before we leave?” he asked, picking up the journal again. Hopefully Stiles would have some time to go over it to find some information about their starting point.

“Another month. We’re aiming to start on the 12th at the latest,” Gerard gave the diary in Stiles’ hands a significant look. “Take that with you and go over it. The sooner you find out where we need to start the sooner we can sort out the arrangements.” 

* * *

_ Derek couldn’t remember much of the journey once they were in the forest. Possibly because of shock. All he could recall were flashes - silver moonlight peeking through the dark leaves, an owl hooting curiously at the passing group, his mother’s worried huff when they arrived home. _

_ She touched his hot cheek, palm cool and dry. Her touch was firm and gentle as she stroked his raised brow and fangs. _

_ “I’m alright.” Derek remembered slurring against her worried hand. He turned his face into her touch, seeking more of her comforting touch. _

_ “What did they do to you?” his mother asked. _

_ Derek shook his head, not sure of the answer, “There was a witch. She… did something. I don’t know what.” _

_ “I overheard some of the guards talking,” Laura chimed in “They spoke of some powerful witch Argat brought in to curse a prisoner. A werewolf prisoner. I thought they were talking about someone else. But when we found him and he said he couldn’t change back… I knew they were talking about Derek.” _

_ Talia’s expression tightened, a low, angry hiss slipped past her teeth, “I knew Argat was planning something but I didn’t think that he would stoop so low. How did he manage to convince any witch or coven to help him?” _

_ “He was always so vehemently against all magic,” Emily said quietly, “I wonder what made him change his mind.” _

_ “It’s possible he forced the witch into helping?” Isaac suggested hesitantly. _

_ Someone snorted from the dark shadows. Peter...He always did love skulking around the edges rather than be in the thick of things where there was a chance of getting one’s self bloody. “As interesting as this conversation is, I suggest that we stop talking and make haste.” Peter offered silkily. “If we hope to live through this crisis then we need to leave. Now.” _

_ Talia nodded, shooting out orders to the staff and people around her. Everyone immediately returned to the hustle and bustle that Derek and the others had interrupted with their arrival. Horses whinnied as they were led out of their stables, carts groaned under their weight, and people kept bumping into each other as they moved in and out of the manor. _

_ Peter moved away, shouting something at the men who were loading supplies into a wagon. Emily moved to follow their mother and Laura made to follow. _

_ “Wait,” Derek rasped, “Where’s father? And William?” _

_ Laura returned by his side immediately, hand curled around the base of his neck and squeezed gently. Another second and she was pulling his pain away, causing part of his tension to seep out. Without the pain keeping him alert, he was ready to slip under again. _

_ “They’re on their way as well. You should rest,” Laura murmured, “Isaac. Set him up in one of the carriages. He’s going to need a lot of rest to recover.” _

_ “Yes, he should rest. Not like we’re in this situation because of him.” Peter muttered angrily as he swept by, arms loaded with wrapped parcels. _

_ The snarl Laura gave Peter more than made up for the barbed comment. “You know was well as anyone else that I wasn’t his fault!” _

_ “It doesn’t change our situation any less does it?” _

_ Laura had no reply for that. She pursed her lips and glared at Peter’s back._

* * *

“You sure you got everything?” Stiles held the phone away from his head, sighed deeply as he ducked his head at his father’s repeated question. You’d think with the way his father was talking he was headed off to Antarctica and not just the other end of the country! He was only flying from California to Kentucky after all. But his father’s over protectiveness was out, full force. 

(Maybe he should have skipped the parts about how he’d forgotten to ‘lock up’ his apartment and left his phone at home when he’d told his dad about his meeting with Gerard.)

Sighing again, Stiles put his phone back against his ear and dutifully replied, “I’m sure, Dad. I got the extra underwear, the extra shirts, the load of books, the extra books that I might need, my magic box, the other magic box, my emergency stash of herbs and oils, the emergency-emergency stash of-”

“Alright, alright. I get it. You’re more than prepared for this. You’ve practically been waiting your whole life for this trip,” He could easily imagine the wry look his dad was sporting right now. “So, any idea how long this whole thing is going to take? Any ideas?”

Now that was a good question. 

Stiles jumped back as a buggy lugging several large trunks puttered by him. The private landing strip was positively teeming with people, all of them with the Argent logo stitched to their blue shirt sleeves. People were loading the transport aircrafts with all kinds of gear, in boxes and containers of all shapes and sizes. 

As he watched a group load up the trucks, Stiles half shrugged. “I don’t know to be honest. I mean, the account of the trip Dr. Fenris took was around eight months but that was like a century ago. Things were a lot different back then, not to mention he kept wandering around and staying in all these small towns all over the place. It’s like he took the scenic route to the city instead of the shortest route, you know what I mean?”

His dad’s contemplative hum was drowned out under a loud "Back ‘er up Charlie!".

“What’s your best guess then? You must have some kind of cut-off date.” 

Turning around when he heard his name, Stiles glanced around and locked eyes with Allison and Scott, who had just arrived. Waving at the couple, Stiles replied, “I think it should take us about two months? Less if we’re lucky but we’re hoping to find the city and come back within four months. But you should see some of the stuff the Argents have got! It’s going to make a lot of things easier.”

“How so?” 

Speak of the devil. A truck was pulling in that had several large drills strapped into place. Stiles grinned at them and wondered if he could get a chance to operate one of those babies. It would be so damn cool! 

“Well there’s these drill that’re gonna to be really useful in case we need to dig through any rocks and stuff. And they’ve got this _ huge _ magic lab set up in this RV that’s-”

“I’m telling you right now, no experiments!” His dad sternly interrupts almost immediately. 

Face falling in embarrassment, “Come on dad! I’m a grown man, I don’t do that anymore!”

“A-huhn.” His dad’s skepticism really stung. No, really. It did! Like a wasp sting. Sharp, pointy, and hurt like the dickens. “So who was the guy who got banned from the University research lab? Your evil, twin brother?”

“That wasn’t me. No one can prove it,” Stiles declared, grinning, holding his fist out for Scott to bump as he was finally in arms reach. “Hey listen dad, I’ll call you when we land, okay?”

“Alright. Have a safe journey.”

Grin softening, Stiles answered, “Thanks Dad. Take care of yourself. Bye.”

He waited for his dad’s reply before hanging up and turning to his friends. “Cutting it kinda close don’t you think?” Stiles asked Scott before looking over at Allison, who was taking in their surroundings with an excited grin.

Allison checked her wrist watch, frowning down at the face. “Weren’t we supposed to be leaving by 8? That’s in 5 minutes.”

“We’re supposed to sign in, get our stuff on board, find out where which plane we’re going to flying in by 8.” Stiles rattled off the tasks one by one on his fingers. “You can’t do that in 5 minutes.”

Scott frowned thoughtfully, “I thought take off wasn’t till 9? That we had an hour to get all that done. That’s more than enough time, isn’t it?” 

As it turned out, Stiles has mistaken their departure time by an hour. That confusion dealt with, Allison suggested they find Kate because she’d know where they had to go and what they needed to do next. Kate turned out to be in the thick of things, looking very much like a General directing her troops and equipment. The hard facade melted for a moment when Kate caught sight of Allison, then she looked like a regular aunt happy to see her niece. 

Sure enough, Kate quickly told them where they had to drop their luggage off and that they needed to be in the plane within 30 minutes. “Actually wait. Where the hell is Shane?” She looked around before yelling, “Shane! Get over here and take this luggage.” 

A hefty looking guy with chin length blond hair immediately lumbered up. Kate pointed at the trio’s luggage with two fingers, “Get this sorted out. They’ve got their name tags on there already. Make sure you don’t mess it up. Any fragile equipment in here that we should be worried about?” 

The last question was directed at Stiles, who quickly thought about it and nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got my vials and stuff packed in newspaper and stuff but handle with care. They’re all inside their boxes in my hiking bag.”

Shane nodded, hefted the five bags up and walked away without a word. Similarly, Kate made a comment about needed to talk with the chef before walking away as well. 

“We have a chef too?” Stiles asked as soon as Kate was out of earshot, “Like a proper chef?” He’d thought they were going to cook their own meals, camping style. 

With an amused grin, Allison tucked her hands into her jacket pockets, “He’s not _ exactly _ a chef. She meant the guy responsible for making all the meals. Given how many people we’ve got, it made sense to have at least a cook and his team with him to make all the food. Although Kate said we shouldn’t except any home cooked meals or anything because-”

“Allison!” A feminine voice called out. 

As one, the trio turned around in direction of the voice. Stiles had assumed that Kate had called out to Allison but no. Kate was in deep discussion with a portly lady holding a clipboard, heads bowed as they spoke. Okay. So it hadn’t been Kate. Then who…?

Allison suddenly let out an excited, high pitched noise, forcing Stiles to look at her in alarm. 

“What?” he asked in rising confusion, watching her run past Kate and straight towards a gorgeous redhead walking toward them. 

Oh! That was Martin! The lady in charge of the explosives! The picture in her file hadn’t done her _ any _ justice. Allison’s friend was, not to be cheesy, a goddess. A petite goddess in high heels. 

A goddess he was about to meet apparently because Allison was waving them over. 

Nervous, and suddenly flooded with insecurity, Stiles leaned toward Scott, "I look okay, right?" 

"What?" Scott asked, confused. 

Stiles waved a hand up and down his person, gesturing at the plaid, jeans, and boots combo in askance. It wasn’t the most flattering of looks sure but Stiles was confident he at least looked decent. 

Scott shrugged, “I guess so. You look like a really skinny lumberjack.”

That made him glare at his best friend because that wasn’t the answer he was hoping to get. Before he could repeat his question, or inform Scott of his desire to not look like a loser in front of a stunning woman, they were already standing in front of the chattering ladies. 

“When did you get here?” Allison was asking with a smile, holding onto Lydia’s hand with both of her own. 

Waving her free hand daintily, the redhead answered, “_ Hours _ ago! I wanted to make sure that all my equipment was packed away properly. Didn’t want anyone mishandling anything and blowing stuff up before we even start the trip. I really don’t need a repeat of Russia on my resume.”

Russia? Stiles mouthed at Scott curiously. The expression Scott made in return was puzzling because he looked something between fearful and exasperated, like Scott knew exactly what Russia meant, and it freaked him out - interesting, very interesting. 

“No wants a repeat of Russia.” Allison agreed solemnly. Allison’s eyes _ finally _ moved to Scott and Stiles, which he used as an opportunity to point an eager finger between himself and the redhead’s back. “Oh! Lydia, I don’t think you’ve met Stiles. Stiles, this is Lydia Martin.”

Straightening his shoulders, Stiles held his hand out for Lydia. “Nice to meet you.” The amount of enthusiasm he poured into the four words _ might _ have come across a little more starstruck than he would have liked but hey, it was the truth. It was _ very _nice to meet Lydia Martin.

Lydia stared at his hand before looking up at him. Right at him actually. The calculating look in her eyes actually made Stiles want to take a step back, wondering what she was thinking about him. “Stilinski right?” she asked, still ignoring the outstretched hand. “_ You’re _ supposed to be our translator and guide?”

Her unimpressed tone made Stiles’ hackles rise. “What’s _ that _ supposed to mean?” He couldn’t help his overly defensive tone, taking his hand back when he realized she wasn’t going to shake it. Stiles added mildly embarrassed into his emotional blender, along with annoyance and anger. 

He’d like to say Lydia’s expression was ‘mocking’ when she gave him a slow once over, but that would be an understatement. The quickly glance which took in his scuffed boots and flannel shirt, and the judgmental twist of her lips, were sharp hits to his ego. 

The sheer amount of disdain he saw in that one little look made Stiles want to hide and pick a fight at the same time. Stiles waited for her to answer, because that would finalize what kind of response he’d have in return, but got nothing but a toss of long hair before Lydia turned her attention back at Allison. 

“Have you seen my lab RV yet? It’s really something special. I had it specially designed by the best people in the business. Dad knew someone who knew someone who got it made to my exact specifications. Well they still messed a few things up but it’s still satisfactory. Come on.”

Grabbing Allison by the elbow, Lydia dragged her away, chattering about all the things she’d packed for the trip. The anger he felt at being brushed off was quickly replaced by alarm as Lydia listed of things like Molotov cocktails, TNT, C4 and other terms he didn’t immediately recognize as they moved out of range. 

Stiles was left feeling rejected, humiliated, and still slightly attracted towards the small force of nature that was one Lydia Martin. Feeling more than a little confused, Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. What a great start to the trip.

Scott gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “Don’t worry about Lydia. She’ll warm up to you. She was like that with me too.”

“She’s...” Stiles turned, giving Scott the full brunt of his confusion. “Really?” Since when did people not like Scott? Everyone liked Scott! He was _ Scott _ . It was like not liking a puppy or a kitten - that was to say, it just didn’t _ happen _.

Scott nodded emphatically. “Yeah. It took her a few weeks but we’re alright now.” 

Scott’s confession made him feel better, enough to inspire a little snark. “Yeah it shows. Explains why she didn’t even say hi to you.” Stiles deadpanned, breaking face when Scott gave him a shove, hard enough to crash into the stack of boxes nearby.

* * *

**(Translated excerpt from Dr. Fenris’ diary)**

**Day 103 in Haven**

_ “It is surprising to note the remarkable variety of creatures who have made this city their home. In the last two days alone I have seen more than twelve different species mingling together in the marketplace and the community areas. While the larger part of population seems to be werewolves and other magical creatures, there are several humans living peacefully amongst them as well. They live next to their magical counterparts rather than having their own section in the city. _

_ This is especially remarkable considering all the lore surrounding a specific species of werewolf, conroicht that suggests they are incapable of living peacefully with humans because of the shifters more animal instincts. All the books available to humans on the outside state that it is impossible for magical creatures and humans to co-inhabit the same space peacefully, and yet, this city proves those texts wrong. _

_ When I brought this topic up in front of α she seemed very displeased. Displeased with my lack of knowledge, I must clarify. She immediately questioned where I had learned of this phenomenon and I informed her that is it now common knowledge in the outside world that humans and magical creatures cannot co-exist together. _

_ She seemed more sad than angry after my explanation. And was quick to tell me that I was wrong. That our texts were incorrect. In times past, beyond the city itself both species lived together in harmony, she explained. She told me of a time long past where magical creatures lived in harmony with humans on the outside. _

_ I admit. At this point I hoped that she would move on and speak about the migration of shifters and other creatures to the city, as well as the circumstances which prompted the establishment of Haven. However, she passed over the topic as lightly as a butterfly over a flower, not in the habit of giving information she was not specifically requested to supply. Gathering my courage, I asked her regardless. _

_ Surely, I inquired, not all humans and magical creatures can live in harmony? After all, if they did at all times, then this city would not have come to be. If humans and magical creatures could live in harmony then the humans wouldn’t have ruthlessly hunted down so many creatures, years ago. _

_ It wasn’t the most intelligent move to make, so shamelessly poke the sleeping wolf, if you’ll permit me the humor, but my curiosity knows no bounds. Something my late wife often teased me over and my old mentor sighed wearily because of it. _

_ I expected α to be angry at my impertinent question. However, to my surprise, a drastic change occurred in her mood. It was clear to see that, despite how old the subject matter was, the hurt still persevered. Clearly the loss of her husband and children was felt keenly by this woman to this day. _

_ It might be overstepping my bounds, but I feel that I can understand her pain. After all, I have lost my own Cynthia and our unborn child far too early in life. _

_ While she did not delve into the details, she did explain the circumstances that led to the establishment and, more importantly, the mass migration to Haven. The details were rooted in treachery and plotting, whose aim was to destroy all shifters in power at the time. She took no names but I suspect the story is in some way connected with her family. Or with someone close to her family. _

_ I do not doubt that there are personal reasons behind why she refused to tell me the details. However, her version of events is a far cry from all the stories and tales I have collected on the outside. All of the stories I found in the old texts place the responsibility of violence squarely on the shoulders of the supernatural. That they had brought their extinction upon themselves because they could not control their blood lust. _

_ Given what I have seen with my own eyes however, humans and supernaturals living in peace and harmony, I am inclined to believe α more than any text. _

_ If I cannot believe my own eyes and experiences, then who _ can _ I believe?” _

* * *

The shine of being on the expedition he’d waited his whole life wore off on the first day -- in less than 24 hours. Being stuck in a truck with a stoic Argent employee who wasn’t interested in playing _ any _kind of road game to pass the time was bad enough, but the road was terrible as well. Stiles was certain that his bones were about to rattle out of their joints every time the man would drive through a pothole.

At several points during the journey, Stiles had to bite down on his tongue to stop from sarcastically asking if his driver _ meant _ to go _ through _ the holes purposely, for fun, instead of _ around _them. But he held his tongue and stuck his nose back into the journal because at least that was more fun than trying to make small talk with a grunt who grunted. 

He’d gone through the diary three times so far and made good headway into translating parts of it. The _ Thedan _script was easy enough to translate if he used a reference book or two. Same with the runes, although it kept giving him a headache trying to figure out where Fenris had used which runes. In places he’d used Anglo-Saxon. Others, Danish. And in a few places, Swedish-Norse. It seemed all too complicated a system to write information done. At least he’d stuck to using Gaelic for his own musings. Most of them anyways. 

Unfortunately for him, the truck’s constant jarring and shaking made reading impossible _ and _ gave Stiles a headache. So, with reading and light conversation out the question, Stiles had tried to play a game on his phone but it kept him occupied only for so long before his phone battery began to go down. At the 30 percent mark, Stiles closed the game, shot a message off to his dad and closed the phone, unable to convince the driver to share the USB charging slot. 

The only other option left now was to sleep till they made camp. And Stiles did try to sleep. He honestly did! But then the driver drove the truck through an especially deep pothole that made Stiles bounce up so hard his head hit the damn ceiling! Rubbing his head, Stiles glared hard at the drivers head and decided he was going to sit with the others next time, seating arrangement be damned! 

The next day Stiles walked past the driver waiting for him by the truck and jumped into the lab RV with Scott, Allison, and Lydia. Along with Allison’s driving being a drastic improvement, the company was better too. Maybe it was because she was driving an RV and not a cargo truck. Or maybe she made it a point to _ avoid _ all the damn holes in the road. 

Regardless, the smoother ride allowed Stiles to complete another page of translation before they stopped for the day. Sure he hit a few speed bumps of his own during the process but this time he had Scott to bounce his ideas off of. Sometimes even Lydia would chime in with a sarcastic but help ultimately helpful idea. It was a good working environment all together.

By the third day, Stiles began to develop a routine. He’d wake up when the cook would walk past the tents, banging his spoon against a metal tray as a makeshift alarm clock, go attend the call of nature, wash his face, change his shirt if it smelled too much, make faces at the slop that was supposed to be oatmeal (but was _ far _too thick), then hop into the RV as they continued the long drive towards the Appalachian mountain range. 

Fenris clearly stated in his diary his intentions to pass through the range on his journey, but he had been strangely vague about exactly _ where _ he’d passed through. By which Stiles meant that that whole part of the journey was in fucking _ Pictish _. Which just so happened to be an extinct language that very, very people had made an effort to study? It was a good thing that Stiles was smart and had a copy of Okasha’s book on the language. He’d even packed Pinkerton’s rambling whitepaper thinking it might come in handy. Sadly, so far it had not.

So Stiles sat every day with his nose in two books with a pen in hand as he struggled to translate the swirling alphabets. It was slow work moving back and forth between the journal, the translation books and his own notebook that was more crossed out lines than a proper translation. His frustration ebbed and flowed, peaking whenever he’d mistranslate something and mess the whole sentence up. It was tiring work.

It wasn’t until Lydia heard him muttering to himself angrily as he stared at a page, that she gestured imperiously to hand the journal over. 

“What for?” Stiles asked, holding the open book against his chest protectively.

With a bored look, Lydia replied. “I know Pictish language.”

“You... do?” She had to be joking right? She just happened to know this extinct language? 

Stiles’ bafflement grew when she shrugged. “I got bored, It’s a pretty language,” she explained. The more he learned about Lydia, the more he admired her. He’d known from Allison and Scott that Lydia was a genius but actually seeing it now? Stiles felt more impressed than ever before. Now if only she’d stop acting like he was like gum stuck underneath her branded shoes that would be great. Stiles could hope. Besides, it was a long journey. Lydia was going to warm up to him soon enough. Same way Danny already had gotten used to him. 

Most of the time their journey was slow, thanks to the size of their entourage, but Allison kept cheerfully pointing out that they were making good progress every day. Unlike certain other Argents who were going to remain unnamed. 

Honestly if he had to sit through one more passive aggressive conversation where his translation skills were going to be questioned, Stiles was going to throw a book at someone’s head. He didn’t understand how Allison came from the same family as Kate and Gerard Argent. Stiles just couldn’t. 

She had a good, cheerful personality and was friendly and approachable. She was fair and valued justice. Stiles never had any problems talking with her. 

But Gerard and Kate Argent? 

_ Ugh_. 

And he’d thought Allison’s dad was bad enough. 

He’d met Chris Argent at Scott and Allison’s wedding and he’d left the reception thinking if there was ever a man who needed a good laugh to unwind, it was Chris Argent. Sure he’d smiled a lot during the ceremony and during the father-daughter dance. But Stiles wouldn’t ever use ‘good humored’ as a descriptor for the man. His unamused stare, coupled with the fact he sold guns to several government agencies made Chris Argent a highly intimidating figure. Scary and intimidating were the two best words for that guy. 

And with Chris having cornered the market on ‘scary’, Gerard seemed to have taken up ‘sneaky and creepy’ as his attribute. At least once a day the man would track Stiles down and grill him about what he’d translated so far. The topics tended to vary, but his questions seemed far too deliberate to be plain curiosity. It made Stiles suspect that Gerard was fishing for something. As though he hoped Stiles would reveal some information by accident. The sticking point was that Gerard was strange and every one of Stiles’ instincts told him to not trust the old man. Stiles couldn’t explain exactly why he distrusted Gerard if someone asked. His first impression of Gerard had been overshadowed by the fact that he’d finally gotten someone to fund the expedition. But now that he’d gotten to work with the old man? Be in close quarters with him? 

Stiles couldn’t even pretend that he liked Gerard Argent. There was just something _ sly _ about the way Gerard would question him. Something slimy in the way he’d walk up to Stiles and ask him questions. ‘Anything new to tell me Stiles? Read anything interesting you want to share with the rest of us? So tell me more about this _ curse _ that you were talking about a few days ago?’ Maybe it was the tone in which Gerard would talk to him, overly familiar and grandfatherly, like he’d known Stiles for years. _ ‘Maybe it’s the way his smile never reaches his eyes.’ _ Stiles mused, chewing on a pen cap before making a note in his diary about keeping an eye out for a “stream with water as clear blue as the sky overhead, flowing between a line of white stones that I nearly mistook as white opal thanks to the bright sun”. _ ‘Or that weird chuckle thing he does.’ _

Stiles didn’t know the man well enough, but Gerard’s smile had a distinctly untrustworthy edge to it. Like he was in on some big joke only he knew the punch line for. It made Stiles uncomfortable and nervous whenever it was directed at him. But as bad as Gerard was, he had _ nothing _on Kate.

If Chris was scary and Gerard was creepy, then Kate Argent was the uncomfortable amalgamation of them both. It was possible that his wariness around the woman stemmed from their strangeness of their first meeting, but Stiles couldn’t shake off the sense that she was going to be real trouble. While he had a hard time pinpointing what it was about Gerard that made his Stiles-sense tingle in warning, figuring the same out for Kate had been a short trip. It was the cold eyes and a constant edge of danger she seemed to carry with her. She reminded Stiles of a sharp blade that might cut you if you weren’t careful holding it. She was recklessly, arrogantly, dangerous. 

Like the time one of the camp staff had found a poisonous snake in her boot. While the others had scrambled out of the tent, scared and wary of being bitten, Kate had strode forward with a knife in hand and a gleam in her eyes. Stiles heard from Danny that Kate had goaded the snake into coming out of its hiding place before sticking the knife right through its head. And then told the cook to skin the creature and make a meal out of it. The story had turned Stiles’ stomach.

Plus there was the way she would eye him from afar. Not exactly like Stiles was a piece of meat but definitely like she was interested in taking a bite out of him. In a bad way. Every time they’d meet, she’d try to flirt with him. The way her touches would linger and the over familiarity with which she’d speak to him or try to initiate physical contact with him made his skin crawl. The way Kate would stare at him, wait for their eyes to meet and then smile, coy and sly in a way that made Stiles think of frogs and scorpions. As much as Stiles appreciated attention from women in general, or men, generally, Kate Argent was one person whose ‘affections’ he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. It just made him feel uncomfortable and hunted.

And every time Allison would chatter about Kate and all the amazing feats she’d pulled off? Stiles had the worst time keeping a straight face and his opinions at bay. Holding his tongue left a sour aftertaste in his mouth but Stiles wasn’t interested in ruffling any feathers - least of all his best friends wife’s. The last thing he wanted was to get on Allison’s bad side just because he personally felt uncomfortable around her favorite aunt. Stiles had a feeling that she might take her aunt’s side over his if he said his mind. Which, he couldn’t blame Allison for that. After all, Kate was her family and you don’t trust anyone over your family, right?

Besides the whole ‘Argent situation’, as Stiles has taken to calling it inside his head, the trip bordered on boring while flirting shamelessly with monotonous. Which was probably the reason why things took a turn for the worse.

* * *

**(Translated excerpt from Dr. Fenris’ diary)**

**Day 14 in Haven**

_ “While Ɣ the emissary was nothing more than a waif - half my size and even more soft spoken - she was firm about the length of time I could spend outside my assigned dwelling. I admit that I was too overjoyed at the prospect of leaving the room to care about how I could only stay outside for a short while. There is only so much one can do in cramped quarters always smell of ginger and juniper while you try to heal. _

_ My body is still weak but the thought of feeling the sun on my face gave me the energy I needed to step out with Ɣ’ s help. I’m sad to report that the simple act of stepping outside into the warm sun and walking over to the nearest stone bench to sit took more out of me than I was willing to admit. _

_ Ɣ quickly left me to my own devices, heading back to her dwelling while I basked in the warmth of the sun. I took the time to observe the inhabitants as they went about their daily business. Ɣ ‘s hut was close to a large well, ensuring a steady flow of people and creatures walking by. Many of them came to visit Ɣ in her cottage, asking her aid for all manners of ailments, even fantastical things like aching horns! _

_ The gentleman who came inquiring about the ache had the most remarkable set of ram horns on the side of his head. They were the deepest shade of black, gleaming like polished onyx! Given the opportunity I would love an opportunity for a closer inspection however, I’m not sure if that person would appreciate my scientific curiosity. _

_ When I brought this desire up to Ɣ later, she understood my curiosity and motivations to be pure and has assured me an introduction to the gentleman with the horns, ‡. She said once I have my strength back, she would invite ‡ back and I could examine his horns and ask him whatever questions I wished. Apparently the ram horned gentleman is a scholar in his own rights within the community. _

_ I am straying however. _

_ While I sat and observed the city people, several things became clear to me rather quickly. There were more than shifters living in the city. I counted at least 20 different species of magical creatures during the short time I sat outside. And many of them felt comfortable enough wearing their true visage while going about daily errands and socializing. _

_ There were shifters and creatures of all ages out as well. I met a delightful kelpie who appeared to be no older 12 years old! Imagine my shock when she told me that she was twice as old as I! Her blue eyes sparkled when she laughed at my astonishment and told me that kelpie’s typical life span was at least twice as long as a human’s, with a more staggered growth cycle. _

_ I am most grateful that Ɣ allowed me to enjoy more than hour outside rather than initial half an hour. And we took our time walking back the short distance to her home, listening patiently to all my ramblings with a smile. _

_ While the scent of ginger wafting up my nose was a quick hit to my good mood, because I was going to be put on bed rest for the rest of the day, it did not completely stifle it. I continued to talk to Ɣ as she helped me sit down on the bed, kneeling down to unwrap the bandages she had carefully applied this morning to my healing leg. _

_ I am pleased to say that my leg is healing well. Ɣ seems pleased how well the bone is healing and said that soon I would be back on my feet, risking life and limb during my trips. Her dry comment was clearly a shot at the manner in which I had gotten hurt. _

_ I hardly feel that I am to blame! _

_ After all, I had simply stepped close to the ledge to see how deep the gorge went. How was I to have known that the edge would collapse under my feet and I would be trapped under a pile of rocks crushing my right leg? _

_ Every night I thank the Maker for my good luck that a rare patrol of shifters from the city had been nearby and had heard the rock slide. I do not know why they decided to investigate when landslides are so common in this area but they did and heard my feeble shouts for help. _

_ I really must ask α who my saviors were and offer them my thanks. I am ashamed I have not done so yet, Father would whip me for my poor manners and Mother would be more than disappointed in me. I must appear so ungrateful to these people that they’d saved my life and I haven’t even thanked them yet. _

_ While Ɣ re-applies her special poultice and oil mixture to the healing skin, I inquire why there are only a few shifters who feel comfortable enough to walk around in their true forms. Granted, I can see why some creatures wouldn’t want to do so. Kelpie’s for example. Imagine the mess a water horse would make trotting around the city. _

_ I wonder how a kelpie is affected during times of great heat. Would they lose water? Do they avoid coming to the surface during summer? Also, do they avoid places of great cold as well lest they freeze? I hope I can ask these questions to the kelpie I met today, if I am blessed enough to meet her again. _

_ Dear journal, I digress yet again. _

_ I was surprised to see that Ɣ seemed uncomfortable with my question. I honestly did not understand what was so wrong about my query that the gentle lady would suddenly appear so sad. That she would look at the people passing by her door with such deep sympathy and pity. _

_ I cannot begin to describe my horrified surprise when Ɣ told me about the curse and how those poor individuals were doomed to walking around with their second faces always showing. _

_ They were cursed by the King’s army. The Hunters, the Emissary had explained. Many of then were travelling in large groups with their families, feeling that there would be safety in numbers. But the Hunters were not only skilled in battle but also at magick. They also had witches with them. _

_ Some made it to the city alive and unscathed but most families did not. Too many people lost their entire families while being chased like animals. Those who survived, either by sheer luck or determination, managed to escape by the skin of teeth but cursed to show their true face for all eternity. _

_ Had I not been so tired from my small trip outside, I would have pressed for more details about the curse. But Ɣ was quick to feed me a brew that made my head heavy with sleep. _

_ My last thought was of those poor souls who had been forced to reveal their true nature without consent. _

* * *

Scott was quietly chatting with Allison, heads bent over several sheets of paper as they sat stood together outside the RV. Stiles couldn’t help but feel envious of their relationship for a split second. But he just as quickly pushed the thought away. He didn’t need romance right now. He had bigger fish to fry. 

Like putting up his tent.

“Why can’t I sleep in the RV again?” Stiles complained as he pitched his tent up. 

Lydia’s answer was swift and merciless, “For several reasons. One, there’s only enough room for two people. Two, I _cannot _sleep outdoors. Three, you and Scott both snore. And, four, I’m a light sleeper. Deal with it.”

“You deal with it.” Stiles muttered peevishly under his breath, knotting the rope tight. 

A couple of days of having to put the damn tent up made him fairly proficient in the process. It wasn’t that he _ minded _ sleeping outside. He really didn’t. It was kinda fun, but right now? He’d prefer to be sleeping somewhere with four walls and a ceiling to provide him with a certain sense of security. And there was the matter of an uneasy feeling that had been building up in him all day. 

Looking up at the mountains looming around them, Stiles couldn’t help the small, cold shiver that ran down his back. In the light of the setting sun, the snow tipped peaks were vibrant pink with orange hues. Stiles should have felt more preoccupied with admiring the mountain’s beauty and not the paranoid feeling that their group was being watched. There was _ something _ somewhere nearby, watching their every move, and waiting for them to go to sleep. They were nothing more than sheep, bleating their way to their unknown doom. 

He shook his head and firmly told himself that he was only being paranoid because he was exhausted. That’s all it was. Tugging on the rope hard enough to push the tent into shape, Stiles reminded himself he should feel ecstatic rather than scared because today they had found the first real sign that they were on the path -- a road marker. 

When they had arrived at the coordinates stated in the diary, they had found nothing. It was just a picturesque landscape -- a flat green field peppered with purple and yellow flowers. There were dried out patches here and there that grew into a steady brown path the closer you got to the path winding between the gently riding hills, but that was about it. There was no real ‘road marker’ located anywhere. Stiles had frantically checked and double checked the journal and his translation before reassuring Gerard and Kate that they were in the right place for sure. Fenris had mentioned the flower field so whatever road sign that Fenris had mentioned? Was supposed to be somewhere in the field. They just had to find it. So they’d split up to cover the maximum ground possible, everyone’s eyes stuck to the ground as they marched forward. A few hours passed that way and nothing had been found. Stiles had gone to Lydia to confirm his translations, worried that perhaps he had a mistake after all.

But then something wonderful happened. One of the truck drivers lost his temper with his cankerous truck. 

The driver had taken the break as an opportunity to check on a weird noise his truck had been making for a few miles. But he wasn’t a mechanic and after 15 odd minutes of frustrated fiddling later, the driver let his anger get the better of him and threw a large, expensive wrench into the brush, just off the road. Immediately worried that he might be punished for losing the item, the driven had gone searching for him. And had literally stumbled on a large, flat rune covered broken rock with red smears around the edges. Luckily for everyone involved, the wrench had fallen just a few inches away from the rock. 

The driven had immediately called the others, who in turn hurriedly called for Stiles to confirm if this was the road sign they were looking. By the time Stiles had arrived, they’d pulled the flowers and vines off the rock. One look at it and Stiles knew this was the road marker that Fenris had mentioned. The thing was a road sign, but not an actual road sign like Stiles had been assumed. For starters, who made a road marker that was at least four feet high, 3 inches thick, and covered in Swedish-norse runes? He’d thought the road marker Fenris mentioned would be a direction sign – 500 miles to Haven this way. 

And there was the other thing of how the marker was less direction and more an ominous warning. Made more creepy by how the red fruit stains appeared like watered down blood staining the rock. One look at the stone and Stiles understood why Fenris had said it was a “bloodied” sign. From a distance, you could almost mistake the red color for blood. 

Stiles paused half-way through tying the rope down to the last tent stake. He thought back to the faded runes carved into the marker and wondered for the hundred time what their meaning could be. 

“Tread not through the shadows. Safe passage will be with light,” Stiles muttered quietly. Was that supposed to be a literal hint? Or was it some kind of riddle? Would sunlight show some kind of secret path they wouldn’t be able to see at night?

“Still thinking about that?” Lydia’s question startled him. 

He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed her when she moved closer. Stiles glanced up at her, frowning slightly because she’d sounded off. And now that he looked at her, he realized what the problem was.She wasn’t standing next to him with her usual confident. She looked unnerved. Stiles would go so far as to say that Lydia Martin looked worried. He wondered if she was getting the same bad vibes he was or if it was that headache Allison had said had been plaguing Lydia for the better part of the evening.

“Allison said you had a headache. How’re you feeling?”

Lydia waved her hand sharply, dismissing the question, “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix. And you didn’t answer my question.” 

Her voice was strangely devoid of its usual sharpness when she asked again, “You’re thinking about that tablet’s inscription too, aren’t you?” 

Stiles hesitated a moment before nodding shortly. No sense in pretending otherwise. And he’d appreciate the chance to talk to someone who was feeling like he was. It might help both of them feel better. Lydia hesitated a moment before walking over to him. She looked incredibly tense and guarded as she came to a halt right next to him. Stiles felt like they both were about to discuss a secret no one else was aware off. Lydia’s sharp eyes were drifting over the camp getting ready to settle in for the night. Her lips were thin and pressed together in an unhappy line when she crossed her arms tightly and murmured, “I don’t like this place. Something isn’t right.”

Stiles nodded almost immediately, “It feels like someone is watching us.”

“Waiting for us to let our guard down.” Lydia finished darkly. 

While he could understand the logic of setting up camp at the bottom of the open gorge, just a couple of miles after the warning sign, Stiles’ gut was telling him that it was a mistake to stop half way. Sure they’d get a clear look at anyone who might try to ambush them, but Stiles also thought they were sitting ducks out in the open. 

“I know what you mean,” he sighed, quickly tying the last rope down on his tent. After checking it’s tightness against the stake, Stiles pushed himself up to his feet. “Any guesses as to what that cryptic road mark could mean?” 

He hoped Lydia would humor him and let him bounce a few ideas off of her brain. He could use some of her insights. Who knows, maybe she would suggest something he hadn’t thought of.

Lydia’s lips pursed tighter. He saw her tighten her grip on her arms before relaxing, “A few ideas but I’m not sure which it could be. There’s too many possibilities and not enough facts to go on.” She suddenly turned her gaze at him, sharp and questioning. “Do you do card readings?”

He blinked at the abrupt change in topic. “Nope. Don’t really trust their accuracy.” 

Lydia didn’t reply, she simply looked away like she was focusing on a group of people setting up around the campfire. “I’ve been doing a reading every day. Out of boredom, mostly. Today was the first time I got a bad reading.”

Oh? He never would have pegged Lydia as the kind of person to put their faith in card readings. Despite the prevalence of magic in modern day human society, card readings were still considered to be highly dubious at best and extremely unreliable at worst. He wouldn’t think that someone as scientific minded as Lydia would put any faith in such a contested branch of magic. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Tarot?” Stiles inquired, just to clarify, frowning slightly at her quick nod. “What did you get?”

“Death. The Tower.”

What did those two cards mean again? It took him a minute to remember and ask, “Change and upheaval, right?” 

Lydia nodded, eyes sweeping over the camp one last time before turning to look at Stiles. “The change part is easily enough to understand. We _ know _ we’re on the right track thanks to the road marker we found. But upheaval. Loss of familiar setting. That worries me. It’s a bad portent.”

Stiles nodded distantly, thinking of the last time anyone in their family had gone in for a card reading. There had been a travelling carnival who had stopped in his hometown. Stiles had insisted on stopping for a Tarot card reading. He could still remember the witch who had pulled several cards out of her deck, placed them in front of his parents and beamed. 

The witch had told his dad to expect a promotion. A sudden monetary windfall that would change their lives. That they were going to welcome a second child into the world soon. A week later they’d found out his mom hadn’t been suffering from a simple stomach bug. Needless to say, Stiles didn’t like cards as a medium after that. 

“I never believed in cards myself,” Stiles confessed. Not wanting to dwell on that particular memory, he changed the subject. He pulled the journal out, flipping it open as he said, “There’s some more lines from the diary that I was hoping you could help me translate. See if I didn’t mess up.”

Lydia nodded, shoulders relaxing slightly. She tucked a long curl of hair back into her elaborate braid before asking, “More Pictish?”

Stiles nodded eagerly and handed the journal over. He tapped the page he’d stuck a blue tab on before remembering he still had to put his stuff away into his tent.

“You know what I I don’t understand? Why Fenris keeps switching between languages,” Stiles complained, tossing his sleeping bag into the tent along with his hiking bag. “It’s almost as though he’s trying to slow me down. Maybe make the whole translation process harder. Or maybe he was just a paranoid ass who loved being secretive. But if that’s what he wanted to do, make translating his journal harder, then he could have just used some kind of cipher or code. That really would have made translating the diary a real pain in the ass.”

The silence on Lydia’s part wasn’t exactly unexpected. Stiles turned around with a pout because come on. He would have thought that Lydia would agree with him on that point. But she was too busy frowning down at the journal. “I can have this done for you by tomorrow. Does that work?”

“Think we can work on it together on tomorrows drive?” Stiles counter offered because right now Lydia was the closest thing he had to a Pictish expert and he was going to learn all he could from her about the dead language. 

Lydia seemed put out by his suggestion but still sighed and nodded, “Okay, fine. Do you mind if I hold onto it for a while? I’d like to look over the parts that talked about his place. Where was it again?”

“Oh, uuhhh,” Stiles leaned closer to flip back several pages before tapping the half-page of Gaelic, “It starts here and goes up till this _ Celtiberian _ on the other page. I’ve got a good book that can help with the second one. Would you…?” 

Lydia nodded and closed the journal, “My Celtiberian isn’t as good as it should be. Who’s guide do you have?”

“Nordhoff, Scholls, and Hoz’s,” Stiles pointed towards their convey, “They’re in my stuff in there. I could get them for you in the morning?”

With a satisfied nod, Lydia answered, “That’ll be fine.” 

“Hey, guys?” Scott interrupted, “Grub’s up and Danny’s setting up a spot for us.”

Stiles immediately cheered up, grabbing Scott by the arm and dragging him over the growing chow line. Chef might approach breakfast like a tragedy, but at least the man knew how to make a mean stew. The smell of it, even from afar, made Stiles’ stomach grumble and ache with anticipation. In fact, if it weren’t for Scott quickly pulling him back by the scruff of his neck, Stiles would have tipped his face straight into his bowl like an animal, eating before they even sat down.

“I know you’re hungry but you think you can hold yourself back a coupla more minutes?” Scott asked with a teasing smile. 

“I make no promises.” Stiles offered, grinning as he walked over to where Danny was warming his hands in front of a cheery fire. Scott hurried after, two trays of food in hand. Stiles sat down as Scott handed the extra tray to Danny before plopping down next to Stiles. “How’s it going Danny?”

“Better, ever since we banned you from playing I, Spy on the group channel.” Danny answered, turning his spoon through the hearty stew. 

While Stiles aggressively attempted to defend his right to save himself from the perils of boredom, more people joined their circle. By the end of his tirade, Stiles realized that a few new faces had joined their little group. There was Heather, the pretty blonde who worked with Danny, and the photojournalist, Matt, a.k.a the guy who spent more time behind his camera than actually talking with people. Stiles was all for being professional and focused on doing his job but Matt seemed to be taking it to a creepy level. Matt just rubbed him the wrong way. It was similar but different to the feelings that Gerard and Kate inspired in him.

Stiles didn’t trust the guy because he felt like a grade-A skeeze-ball. As he had tried to explain to Scott, “There’s just something about him that just isn’t right.” Scott had been far from convinced because Stiles’ gut wasn’t something he put a lot of faith in. But Stiles was certain that sooner or later they would get undeniable proof of how much of a creeper Matt was, and it wasn’t going to be pretty. Stiles was ready to bet his entire comic book collection on that.

The conversation rose and fell as they ate. Most of the group seemed buoyed by the discovery they’d made earlier in the day. The general mood of the camp was happy and excited. Like they were on the verge. Even in their small group people were talking at once, over each other, indulging in various conversations, and sometimes they were all quiet as they stared at the fire or listened to the camp settling in. 

A sudden chill wind blew through the gorge with a sharp whistling noise, making the fires flicker and everyone shiver and pull their coats higher up their necks, “Where’d that come from?” Heather chattered, pulling her jacket tighter around her thin frame. 

Pointing up at the barely visible white tips of the mountains over their heads, Matt replied. “It’s probably coming from up there. The closer we get to the mountains, the colder it’s going to be.” 

Stiles halted, forgetting about the bite that was going into his mouth. It was the rational explanation (pretty obvious too). Heather and a few others seemed to think so because they went back to talking and eating. But the fact of the matter was, the wind had come from the other side of the gorge, not from the mountains side. Stiles wasn’t sure if anyone else had noticed the wind direction either. Maybe Allison had because her face was turned towards the road they had come in on, frowning heavily into the dark before she leaned over to whisper something to Lydia. Lydia paused and stared with uncertainty towards the road before glancing over at Stiles. When their eyes meet, Stiles was sure the girls didn’t believe Matt’s explanation either.

“Didn’t the wind come from the other side?” Scott quietly asked against his side.

Stiles swallowed and nodded, “Yeah. Pretty sure it did.”

“Think there’s a storm coming?” Scott asked worriedly, glancing in the direction of the open plains before looking up, “I don’t want to wake up and find out my tent got flooded.”

He immediately relaxed because of course! There was probably a storm brewing and that wind was just a result of that. He needed to stop letting his paranoia get the better of him. With a hard head shake, Stiles told himself to let it go and paid attention to the conversations going around him. For a while, he listened to Danny explain how he was using his magic to help him enhance the performance of IC’s and other circuits (because the concept of combining and technology and magic, techno-magic as it had been dubbed, was something that Stiles had always found so fascinating). But as soon as he was done eating, Lydia was sitting down next to him and shoving the journal back under his nose. 

“I can’t make this word out.” Lydia tapped her finger against a line of Celtiberian_, _ “I think it’s something to do with shadows but see this line here? This is talking about some kind of creature that’s supposed to be guarding the entrance. Or maybe creatures, I can’t be sure given the word usage.”

“Creatures?” Scott asks from the side, walking to behind the pair and peering interestedly down at the diary. “Is that supposed to be it?” He pointed down at the sketch on the other side of the text.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Looks kind of like Slender Man doesn’t it?”

“Kind of yeah.” Scott laughed, “I didn’t know Slender Man existed all the way back then.”

Danny spoke up, “Slender Man is a new legend actually so that can’t be it. Whatever that thing is has to be something else.”

“It could just be some rumors or stories that Fenris heard about this place,” Stiles nodded towards the mountain range, “This place has a history about that kind of thing. They say that there’s reclusive hill folk living here and that they worship demons. That they’ve got their own kind of folk magic that no one’s ever seen before.” 

“Really?” Heather asked, eyes wide as she glanced warily up at the dark mountains.

It was Lydia who answered her though, “No one’s ever been able to prove or disprove the existence of the Appalachian hill folk. It’s turned into a local legend because of it. Plus there are several legends that many cultures have modified internally into their own communities in order to stop people from exploring beyond their lands. Like in The Village.”

“Good example,” Stiles pointed at Lydia, “Plus if you look throughout history, you’ll see that there’s a pattern of thin, creepy, tall guys with red eyes haunting people and stuff. There’s just something about that whole image that really scares us all. So this thing?” Stiles held the journal up so that Heather could see the sketch of the tall, black figure with red eyes and clawed hands, “It’s just a local variation of the same old story.”

There was a beat before Allison asked, “So it could just be nothing but local superstition?” 

“Absolutely,” Stiles reassured her and the others, “It’s like Lydia said. It’s probably just this area’s modification of a classical fear that’s been seen throughout history and multiple cultures.”

Heather seemed to visible relax at Stiles words. Matt was staring up at the mountains like he expected the dark figure to come crawling down the steep incline. 

“It’s probably just a statue or something.” Lydia added, handing the book over to Stiles. “Like a scarecrow. Something to scare away any trespassers, make sure that the wrong people don’t find the entrance. We need to be careful and make sure that we don't trip any wards or traps from now on.”

“Speaking of which!” Stiles immediately flipped the diary open to the part where Fenris had written about the city and wards and held it out towards Lydia, “What do you think about this part here? This line here? I can’t get a solid translation of it.” 

As Lydia frowned down at the journal, Matt spoke up, “Don’t you ever get tired of keeping your nose in that thing?”

Looking up, Stiles found a camera lens winking at him before Matt lowered the device. 

“I’ll get tired of it the day you get tired of hiding behind that camera.”

That earned him a jab in the ribs from Scott and a thoroughly disapproving look from Danny. What? Was Stiles supposed to just lie down and take it?

Matt was lucky that Heather walked over to him at that point and asked, “You’re having trouble with something?” 

Stiles sighed and nodded, “Kind of. Like, there’s a lot of parts that don’t make sense and I keep hoping that if I keep re-reading ‘em, I’ll figure out why Fenris changed the subjects so abruptly in certain places.”

“It feels really choppy,” Lydia quietly agreed, “It feels like you can’t shift gears smoothly and something keeps sticking.”

Heather tilted her head in confusion before saying, “I don’t get it. Isn’t it just turning words from one language into another?”

If only translation of texts was as simple thought it was. Stiles tried not to sigh and tried to explain in his most patient voice, “It’s not that simple. Different languages have different rules of use and grammar. Plus you need to take into account local dialects and slang so it can get pretty complicated pretty fast.”

“Okay. Then what’s the problem? That he keeps changing between languages all the time?”

“Yeah, Like,” Stiles nodded, flipping the journal open to another section, “Okay, see here? This whole page Fenris is talking about the history of the city and how it was established. But when you get to the end of this page, he’s suddenly talking about farming and agriculture in the lands around the city on the other page. It’s like he just drops the subject and moves to the next one mid-sentence! I don’t understand it.”

“Maybe that’s the kind of guy he was. You know? Kind of rambly and distracted. Plus if it was his journal then it doesn’t have to follow a pattern right?” Heather looked to Lydia for confirmation of this.

Lydia tipped her head in consideration of this before nodding slowly, “That’s true but it doesn’t feel like that. It feels more…”

“Like we’re missing something.” Stiles finished with a frustrated noise.

Heather was quiet for a moment before she asked, “Could I see that for a moment?” Holding her hand out for the journal.

After a split second of hesitation, Lydia handed the leather bound diary over. Heather turned so that she was half facing the fire and carefully examined the book in its light. She ran her hands over the spine before slowly flipping through the pages. Stiles wondered what she was looking for.

She paused at a seemingly random point and carefully pushed the book open as much as she could before letting out a small, triumphant noise. “Is this the part of the book you were having trouble translating?”

Stiles and Lydia leaned over to check the pages out, “Yeah!” Stiles looked up at her in surprise, “How did you-?”

Heather excitedly pointed towards the spine of the book, “There’s a page or two missing! See the little scrap of paper there? You wouldn’t be able to tell it’s there unless you push it open all the way. That’s explain the sudden change in topic right?”

A missing page? Could it be that simple? Stiles stared at that small slip of paper that did look like someone had torn a whole page out. It was a simple explanation and far more plausible than Stiles’ ‘Fenris was high on some pain brew while writing this part’ theory. 

“I think you’re right” He offered, handing the journal over to Lydia for examination, “That would make a lot of sense. How did you think to check for that?”

“Well I just thought…” Heather blushed and smiled, “I dunno. It’s the only idea I had and I thought, why not check for it. I’m glad that was it though.” 

Lydia nodded, obviously impressed, “It was a clever guess.” 

Stiles shot Heather a wry smile before reassuring her, “It was a good call.” 

Heather grinned back. She nodded back towards the journal before asking, “So, does it say what comes next? Are there more road signs like we the one we found or do we have to dig our way through something?” 

That was a question Stiles kept being asked a lot. Multiple times from a lot of the crew since they’d started and at least three times today by the Argents alone. Today alone, he’d probably been asked that _ at least _50 times. By this point, Stiles could recite the answer in his sleep.

“No digging. According to Fenris, we can get to Haven by following these signs that the first travelers left behind. They’re like bread crumbs. We just have to find them. I’m guessing they’ll be like the carved stone we found today. But like Lydia said, we just need to keep an eye out for some booby traps.”

Heather frowned down at the journal before raising an incredulous eyebrow at him. “That’s it? It’s that easy? We just find a bunch of ‘go this way’ signs and we’ll get to the city?” 

Her frown grew deeper at Stiles’ easy nod. “It _ can’t _ be that easy.”

“It won’t be.” Matt prophesied, raising the camera to take a shot of Kate talking with Allison. “I’ll bet good money on that.”

* * *

**(An incomplete excerpt from Dr. Fenris’ diary)**

**Day 16 in Haven**

_ “I am happy to report that Elizabeth came to visit me today. She had heard that I was finally well enough to receive visitors and had decided to come see how I was faring. _

_ She appeared as cheerful and lovely as the day of our meeting, when she had been arguing with her pack mates to save me rather than leave me to die under a pile of rocks. I will forever be indebted to her kindness and I told her so. _

_ The sight of happy blush stirred such feelings in me that I did not think I would feel again - not after Cynthia’s passing. _

_ Ɣ seemed more than happy to hand me off to Elizabeth, sternly telling the brunette that I was not to overexert myself and neither was I supposed to put too much weight on my right leg. Running was naturally out of the question but a short walk outside, like say to the well, would be fine however. _

_ The way she spoke of me was less befitting a Healer and more the manner of an old friend. Which is true in a way. After all, I have spent over two weeks with Ɣ in her house. And given how we have had to spend so many hours together as each other’s only company, we have formed a deep friendship. _

_ I will miss her when I will have to leave. _

_ Eager to be in Elizabeth’s company and to spend some time outside of the house, I asked the shifter to accompany me outside. And she was kind enough to offer me her arm, encouraging me to lean on her as we strolled away to the nearby well. _

_ We passed many a group of people during out walk, several of them stopping to talk with Elizabeth or pausing to inquire about my health. I recognized several of them as people who had come to Ɣ’s house for their own ailments. _

_ The longer I stay here the more amazed I am at the hospitality that has been extended to me, a mere human. _

_ If one considers the history that these people have had with humans - the way they were systematically hunted and persecuted - their kindness seems very much out of place. I do not have words to express the depth of my sadness, and horror! When Ɣ had told me the truth about the Great Purge. _

_ We have been taught that it was the shifters who had struck first, killing an innocent princess for their own nefarious purposes. When the truth is far more shocking and -” _

* * *

Scott’s body fell against him, causing Stiles to stagger to the side even as his arm went around his best friend. He almost clipped Lydia in the shoulder and just barely dodging hitting her much smaller form by taking a step back. 

“What the hell, dude?” Stiles grunted, trying to shove his best friend off of him. 

But Scott wouldn’t budge. In fact, he clung harder to Stiles with a tired moan, “Carry me back to my tent please. I’m so full.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles offered his shoulder for Scott to lean on. Allison smiled in amusement as Scott let out a theatrical groan of delight at the aid. Shaking his head, Stiles continued their way back to where they would be sleeping, feet aching in his boots. Comfortable hiking boots, his scrawny ass. He was totally going to sue the shoemaker's once they were back in civilized society. Then again, Stiles had to wonder if these shoes were _ meant _ to be worn all day, every day for over a week. They probably weren’t. 

“I can’t believe how sitting around in a car all day and then trying to get everyone back on the road would be this tiring,” Scott mumbled.

“Tell me about it.” Allison sighed from Scott’s other side, rolling her neck around until something cracked, “Trying to get everyone moving at the same time is like trying to herd a bunch of sheep without a sheepdog.”

“Technically, you both _ are _ the sheepdogs?” Stiles said, shrugging unapologetically at the twin glares he received. “It’s true! Think about it. Gerard’s like the guy who owns the farm and gives directions. Kate’s the shepherd who tell you what to do, when to do it, and how to follow the orders through and you two help them get the job done.”

Allison raised an amused eyebrow at him. “What does that make you?”

“A very baaaah-d sheep.” Stiles chortled so hard at his own joke that he almost sent Scott falling face first on the rocky floor. 

Sadly, his friends didn’t agree with his comedic genius and groaned loudly at his terrible joke.

Stiles was still chuckling when Matt crossed their path. The man very literally came out of nowhere to stand right in front of them, stopping them from heading towards the RV. 

“Hey Allison! I was wondering if I could catch a ride with you tomorrow?” 

The way Matt’s attention was completely riveted on Allison, made Stiles give his best friend an annoyed, disapproving look. It couldn’t be that Matt was trying to hit on Allison, right? How could anyone miss the shiny ring on the woman’s left hand? You’d have to be blind to miss it. 

Allison turned to give Scott a questioning look. His best friend shrugged - why not? Stiles wanted to slap Scott up the head for it. What he was doing letting a creep like Matt get in close quarters with Allison? Stiles was _ clearly _ going to have to talk to Scott _ again _ about how Matt gave him a _ really _bad vibe and therefore, was not to be trusted!.

Allison turned back to Matt with a smile. “Sure. Just be ready on time. We’re in the front of the caravan so we don’t want to be late.”

“Absolutely. Good night.” The man _ finally _looked at them and gave them a short nod. Stiles nodded back, not even scrounging up a fake, polite smile. Scott however gave him a smile and a tiny wave.

Waiting for Matt to be well out of earshot, Stiles stated, “I really don’t like that guy.”

“Stiles!” Scott chided, “C’mon.”

“I don’t alright!” Stiles threw his hands up in supplication to the sky. “He’s got serious creeper vibes. I’m talking Norman Bates meets Ted Bundy vibes. Does no one else notice that?”

“Notice what?” Kate’s sudden question made Stiles start, bumping hard into Scott. He was tempted to yell and ask where the hell had she suddenly popped out of but Stiles quickly held his tongue.

Thankfully, Allison came to his rescue quickly. He was totally going to buy her something really nice once they were back home. Like a doughnut. A fresh out of the oven, glazed doughnut. God, he missed junk food so bad. 

“The strange wind that keeps coming in from the other direction. Stiles was saying that it was really creepy.” She was too far away for Stiles to give her a sneaky high five so he tried to give her a discreet thumbs up. Which Kate would have caught had he not turned it into a quick hair ruffle. 

“You noticed that too?” Her sharp gaze made Stiles’ stomach twist with anxiety. On the one hand he was glad he wasn’t the only one who had noticed the wind direction. But on the other hand, he had a feeling he’d somehow just pinged on Kate’s radar in some way he shouldn’t have. 

He hoped that his face or eyes didn’t give anything away when he nodded in agreement. Kate stared at him for a long few seconds before finally looking away, up towards the mountains with a suspicious stare, “Any idea what it could be?”

“Could just be a storm front?” Scott offered.

Kate shot him a scathing look before saying, “I meant magically.” 

When her gaze landed on him, Stiles quickly shook his head. “None. The diary doesn’t have anything to say about it.”

The only thing Fenris had talked about for this part of the journey was how lucky he had been to arrive at the gorge early morning, allowing him to make good time through it and then arriving at the foot of a hill that had ‘the most spectacular purple flowers I have ever seen’. Fenris had even included a few nice sketches of the hill.

Kate’s frown grew dark as she glared distrustfully at the shadows wreathing around the sand colored rocks. “I guess it’s just a storm brewing them.” 

Her tone gave away how little she believed her own words and made Scott shoot Allison a worried look.

* * *

**(Translated excerpt from Dr. Fenris’ journal)**

**Day 245 of my journey**

“_I owe my life to this small group of shifters who have elected to help me rather than leave me for dead at the bottom of the canyon. Thanks to a misstep, I found myself at the bottom of a large rock pile that had fallen mostly on my leg. I could tell my right leg was broken and had thought all hope lost. _

_ But against all odds, this group found me. They’d heard my shout as I’d fallen and my latter cries for help and decided to investigate. After they’d found me and realized that I was a stranger, they’d debated between leaving me to die and saving me. _

_ I will admit. My first reaction to having several pairs of glowing eyes staring down at me from a ledge had me freezing in fear. I had thought I was hallucinating. More so when one of them jumped down and landed on her feet as nimbly as a cat. Her face appeared feline as well, with a stout nose and whiskers that twitched when she smelled me. _

_ She’d snarled at me, teeth flashing when she’d hissed up, “Human!” _

_ She had made to jump away and I immediately begged for her help. She paused for a moment, round ears twitching before stilling. I pleaded with her, ignoring my fear and elation at having accidentally found a shifter. _

_ I continued to beg long after the feline shifter had jumped back up. I pleaded to the dark, voice growing faint as I wondered if this was to be my fate. I was near giving up and passing out, thinking that my plea’s had fallen on deaf ears when the feline returned with her friends. _

_ After quickly questioning me and going through my bag, they decided they were going to take me back to their city. I remember jolting awake at that point, excited that I may have accidentally found the lost city after all! All because I’d gotten too curious about where that blasted mountain goat had gone off too. _

_ They helped me out from underneath the rocks, bandaged my legs, and made a makeshift stretcher to carry me upon. Though mildly delirious with pain, I knew how lucky I was. I could have died there and no one would have been the wiser. _

_ I thanked the group many times over but they told me I should hold my gratitude back until we got to the city. To wait until their Council passed judgement on him. (A Council? Their city was organized enough to have an committee like that?) _

_ It has been but two days since our meeting and yet it feels like a lifetime. Moving me through the labyrinth like caves that stretch underneath the mountains has been slow thanks to the fact that I am wounded. My healing tonics and pain relieving brews are doing little to help the ache of my broken leg. I suspect it is because they have passed the final consummation date. _

_ Despite the fact that I am only human and that they are shifters, the group makes sure to include me in their conversations. I suppose they want to test me and see what kind of person I am. Regardless of their intentions, I am glad of the company and am happy to answer their questions. _

_ And they ask me many questions. _

_ About how humans are living on the outside now. What magical advancements have occurred lately. How far has technology progressed. What was I doing so deep in the valley. How the hell had I gotten trapped underneath the rock pile. Why was I searching for the city in the first place. _

_ I told them everything I could, including how I was hoping to find a part of my family who had supposedly gone into exile in the city. My grandfather, upon learning of Cynathia’s death through childbirth, had darkly said that was to be expected because our ‘mixed’ line couldn’t breed with normal humans without the mothers expiring during childbirth. I had not seen my unborn child but I had been told that it had certain… deformities. _

_ My hope was to track down the ‘supernatural’ part of my family and get some answers. Or die trying. _

_ But most of the questions I was asked revolved around how I’d gotten so far in my search for the city. I explained how I followed several texts, talked with a lot of the right people, and had luck on my side. _

_ One of the men, ∂, shook his head at me and told me I had the luck of the gods on my side. _

_ He went on to explain how the road to Haven was wrought with very real danger. While there were clear signs left for travelers to follow, there were also several traps in place to dissuade any unwelcome people from continuing. They had to make sure that the Hunters wouldn’t come after them. _

_ Wards were only the beginning of the long list that ∂ shared with me. There were illusions, glamours, decoy signs and many more things to watch out for during the journey. _

_ “You can understand why we need to take these precautions,” One of the ladies told me. I believe her name is Elizabeth. ∂ told me she was one who had convinced the rest of the group to save me. “Given the way we have been hunted by the humans, we need to be very careful who finds their way to our city.” _

_ What really astounded the group was the ease with which I had passed through the canyon. That was the part of my story that had made ∂ declare me blessed by Fortuna herself. _

_ However I still could not understand why they considered me so lucky for having walked through the canyon. All I had done was walk down a straight path a little after dawn and arrived at the foot of a hill. _

_ Surely there was nothing remarkable about that? _

_ I even said as much. ∂ immediately explained that the chasm was the first sign on the road to Haven. He asked me if I had seen a large tablet pressed into the earth, crowned with a vine that bore fruit the color of blood. I admitted recollecting the stone. I’d stayed to make a quick sketch of the slab before hurrying on, eager to make most of the daylight and deciding I’d study the rock and its inscriptions later. _

_ With a quick bark of laughter, ∂ told me that I should have studied the inscriptions with greater care because then he would really understand why they were so surprised. _

_ Apparently the runes were a warning to travelers. If someone did not pay heed to the warnings, if they traveled at the wrong time, they would be attacked by the demons that live in the shadows. _

_ They were made of darkness, with glowing red eyes that burned brighter than the hottest flames. I have never heard of such mythical beings in all of my studies. And I have never heard of the name that Lucas used for them either. _

_ ‘Kaiatraa.’ _

_ My curious and questioning nature made me ask ∂ more questions about these creatures but the man had little to share. No one knows where they came from or the circumstances under which they had agreed to guard the path. _

_ All anyone knew was that they are the creatures who watch over the initial journey to the city and will ensure that no one untrustworthy would pass through the canyon. _

_ And woe be unto those who fail to heed the warning given to them.” _

* * *

There was nothing Stiles hated worse than waking up in the middle of the night because his bladder couldn’t wait till morning. Despite the fact that his brain was still sleeping, Stiles still managed to think of several good curse words in his half-conscious state as he stumbled out of his tent.

A light immediately flew into his face, causing him to raise his arm and hiss, “It’s just me! Get that light out of my face!”

“Where’re you going?” The guard asked, turning the flashlight away, thank God. Stiles pointed towards the area they’d marked as the unofficial bathroom spot. With a nod, the guard told him, “Shovel and TP’s there if you’ve got longer business to attend to.”

That said, she turned on her heel and returned to her patrol. It was nice to know that their night guards were not only awake but also considerate. Scratching his head, Stiles stumbled past the few people sitting huddled around the campfire. God it was so cold out here. He was glad he’d splurged and gotten a seriously good winter coat or else he’d be a popsicle right now. 

The quiet conversation the guards were making following Stiles as he headed behind the big rock a couple of feet away. Someone had stuck a piece of paper saying “TOILET” on the rock. And look, there was the shovel and toilet paper the guard had been talking about.

_ ‘All of nature is my toilet.’ _ Stiles thought idly as he headed behind the rock and unzipped his pants. Huffing a tired little laugh, Stiles pissed at the base of the thick bushes in the corner before realizing that he’d forgotten to bring some water with him to wash his hands. A quick check of his jeans revealed that he didn’t have any hand sanitizer on him either.

Maybe someone had hung a bucket somewhere? If someone had put the shovel and toilet paper there then someone must have put some water here too right? Stiles glanced around and did stumble upon a bucket but it was empty.

Perfect. Stiles sighed while trudging back to camp. _ ‘Maybe one of the guys’ll have some water I can wash my hands with.’ _

Stumbling, Stiles glared down at the offending rock he’d stubbed his toe on. Great. Now he was totally awake. It was going to take forever for him to go back to sleep now. _ If _ he was lucky. 

Knowing his luck he was going to toss and turn until dawn and would manage to fall asleep an hour before the camp would wake up and then be woken up by a far too cheerful Danny and spend the rest of the day nursing a sleep deprivation headache. 

All because of a stupid rock.

“Stupid rock.” Stiles muttered, looking up towards the fire, “Hey gu-“

With a jolt Stiles stumbled back, bile rising up in his throat when he saw the dead bodies lying around the dying campfire, blood glistening under the firelight. Sightless eyes stared right at him, wide open in terror. The coppery stench of blood and guts made his stomach clench, forcing him to turn his head away and throw up, uncaring of where he was or whose tent he was standing behind. 

He choked and hacked up his dinner, tears stinging his eyes due to the force of the convulsions. Stiles shut his eyes tight, but he couldn’t get the sight of the dead men out of his head. He pressed the back of his hand against his nose, willing himself to breathe through his mouth. He needed to get a grip

What the hell had _ happened _? He’d just... It had been less than a few minutes! Who could have come up and killed the guards? The guards. Stiles whipped his head up in alarm, wondering where the guard he’d just talked too had gone.

The sound of something dragging slowly against the ground caused Stiles to freeze before he could take a single step away. He felt inexplicably cold, chilled all the way down to his bones when he heard the noise again. 

Someone was walking towards him. Dragging their feet by the sound of it. Or they were dragging something heavy behind them. There was an odd fluttery sound that mingled with the sound of the crackling fire. 

_ ‘A murderer? Serial killer? Out here?’ _Stiles thought frantically, body still locked in terror. He knew he should run away. At the very least yell and raise the alarm that something was out here and had killed their people. He had to grab a weapon, arm himself! Even if it was a heavy rock! 

Stiles knew what he ought to do. But his body was still as a board, frozen in fear as the heavy tread grew closer. And closer. 

He could hear whatever it was breathing behind him. Low, heavy exhales that sounded more like a snort than an exhale. '_Is it... even human?’ _ Stiles wondered, the hair on the back of his neck standing up when something brush against the back of his leg. Something that felt a lot like fingers.

Panic flooded him. Inexplicably he was glad his bladder was empty or else he would have had one hell of an accident right there and then. 

_ ‘It’s not human.’ _

That did it. His body finally broke out of its trance. Stiles jumped away from whatever it was behind him, shouting and yelling at the top of his voice, “Help! There’s something out here!”

Whatever it was exuded an angry, frustrated energy and was now making a break for it. The screech it let out forced Stiles to press his hands to his ears to muffle the high pitched sound it made, but to no avail. His hand reached out the back of his belt, searching for his emergency oil bottle. But he grasped nothing but air.

“You’ve gotta be _ kidding _ me!” Stiles cursed, making a mad dash back to his tent. 

People were starting to wake up, many sticking their head out of their tents, annoyed as hell at being woken up in the dead of night. But as soon as they saw the dead guards, they’d jumped out yelling for the others to wake up. Stiles didn’t turn around to see what they were doing next. Because he’d heard more than a few cries being cut off mid-way with an ugly sounding gurgle that had made him want to throw up again. And Stiles didn’t have it in him to turn around and check. Not until he had some way to defend himself first. 

As he ducked into his tent and fumbled around for his satchel. Where the hell was it? Where had he thrown it last night? There! Underneath the journal! His hands shook as he pulled his belt and satchel on. The heavy weight of it against his hips was comforting and familiar but granted him little comfort. He still needed to arm himself. Next up, he needed his oils, chalk, and any other materials he might need to cast a quick spell or two.

The shadows being thrown against his tent were twisted and grotesque and Stiles did his level best not to look at them. Stiles heard someone shout in alarm from the other side of the tarp before falling back with a heavy thud. The screeching sound was now accompanied with an insect like clicking noise that made the fine hairs on Stiles’ arms stand up. He _ had _ to find his bag and get the vials box in there. Stiles pounced on the red and black bag sitting in the corner, forcing his trembling fingers to cooperate and pull the damn zip open. 

As he was desperately trying to shake his vial box out of his hiking bag, Stiles heard a voice from behind him say, “What the hell’s going o-_ hurk _!”

The wet-heavy sound of a body hitting the ground made him want to throw up all over again. It was only the sharp scent of mint rising up out of his vials box that kept him from doing so. Stiles tightly clenched one of the cool glass vials in his hand before tucking it away into his belt. His hands moved on muscle memory, tucking everything and every vial into its place.

Stiles was ready now.

As soon as he stepped out of his tent, Stiles pulled one of the vials out, wet the tip of his right index finger and drew a Light glyph on the back of his left hand - a circle with a dot in the middle. He’d no sooner dabbed the final dot on that a ball of bright golden light formed in his palm. Its light was sharp and powerful, like holding a small sun in his hands. But what little comfort he’d gathered from the warmth radiating from the light ball disappeared at the clear sight of the creature before him. 

It was tall. At least three feet taller than him. It was thin, jet black, and with eyes as red as hot coals. And it had multiple shadowy appendages, three of them curled around individuals as it squeezed the life out of them. It looked exactly like the drawing Fenris had made in his journal.

“What the hell?” Stiles gasped as the creature screamed and ducked away from the light. Its prey, a pale-faced man with brown hair, fell to the ground with sickening thumps, straight into a growing pool of blood. His heart fell knowing he was too late, they were already dead.

But why had the creature run away? What had caused it too…

Gears clicked together in his brain.

“Son of a-” Stiles hissed, running forward towards the spluttering fire. They had to get the fires going again. And turn on any lamps and make more light balls to push the creatures back. 

As he jogged towards the pile of burning embers, noise began to pour into his head. It felt like someone had just taken some earplugs out of his ears. There was gunfire, so much gunfire. People shouting and screaming, so many of the voices being cut in the middle. Stiles firmly ignored them all and hurried forward. If there was any hope of saving the people left, Stiles needed to get to the fire still burning. 

Scott slammed into him midway, face pale and eyes wide with panic, “Stiles! What the hell is going on? What’s happening?”

“Remember the thing we were talking about at dinner? The thing guarding the entrance?” Stiles explained, grabbing Scott and dragging him with him to the fire. Scott would be safer near the light source anyways. At least for as long as the fire kept burning. And Stiles couldn’t see a lot of firewood nearby. Jesus. Why was everything going to shit so fast? “That’s it. That’s the thing attacking us right now! It lives in the shadows! _ That’s _what Fenris was talking about! We should have passed during the daytime because this thing is in the shadows!”

“We need to get out of here!” Scott yelled, jumping when someone nearby shot off a round. “We can’t stay here until morning!”

Shit. Scott was right. There was no way that they could make a stand like this. They would have a better chance if they made a run for it. “Help me get some fires started first.” Stiles urged, holding his left hand high over his head, “The more light we have, the better our chances of making out of this alive. Gimme your hand.” 

Scott held his right hand out immediately and Stiles quickly drew a Light glyph on the back of Scott’s hand. Light shot through Scott’s clenched fingers and straight into Stiles’ eyes, making him squint. “Go! Tell Gerard and the others! I’ll go get Allison and the others! Make sure to tell everyone that any light source is gonna hold these things off.”

Jaw tight with determination, his best friend nodded before he began to run through the crowd. Scott yelled at everyone to pack up everything and get moving. “Stay out of the shadows! If you can magic up a light ball do it! Turn your lamps on and stick close to a light source! Grab a torch or make one from some bush but _ don’t _ go into the shadows!”

With one last look at Scott’s back, Stiles turned the other way. Pushing his way past the bodies that were huddling over the fire with large branches in hand, Stiles began to run towards the front of their caravan where the RV was. The cracking roar of multiple fires going crashed into the sound of vehicles sputtering to life. There was still gunfire and people yelling but their part of the canyon was lighting up. It all blended together in a harsh cacophony that made Stiles’ ears ring. It was the sound of survival. Guilt and fear slammed into each other every time Stiles heard a scream was cut short. 

_ ‘Don’t think about it.’ _ Stiles scolded himself, dodging the trio of half-dressed engineers rushing past him. _ ‘Not right now. You can’t lose it now. Not until you’ve made it out of here alive. Oh jeez, I didn’t even tell dad I loved him last time we talked.’ _

“Stiles!” He heard Allison’s voice before he saw her. 

He hurried forward towards where he could see Allison waving a flashlight. Kate and Allison stood at the helm of a small group of people armed to the teeth. For the first time in his life, Stiles could say that he was glad to see Kate Argent because she looked like she was spoiling for a fight. He could see Lydia standing right behind Allison, clutching a shotgun to her chest as her wide eyes darted around her.

“What the hell is going on?” She asked as soon as Stiles was in earshot.

He opened his mouth to answer her but instead of giving her the same rapid explanation he’d given Scott, Stiles wound up shouting, “Behind you!” 

Kate reacted first. She whipped around, gun cocked into the darkness. Stiles knew that she had seen the creature and its red eyes when her body froze. But just as quick, she’s shook her fear off and fired a few rounds straight at the creature. It screeched. Then again when Kate shot at it again, and again, continuing until she’d emptied the entire clip into the creature’s body. Stiles came to stand next to the others, his light ball gleaming off the empty cases that glimmering on the canyon floor. Maybe a lot of bullet wounds was another way to hurt the creatures but Stiles didn’t want to stick around and find out if that would hurt or not. 

“What the hell is that thing?” Kate snarled eyes staring out in the darkness, daring the creature to attack again. Stiles quickly offering the longer explanation to Kate, including in how the light seemed to have momentarily drive the creatures away, if not hurt them.. 

“We’ve got some emergency lights packed with every truck. Tell all drivers to keep their lights up and to put the lights on the top of the trucks.” Kate directed towards the group sharply, “What else can you tell me?” she asked Stiles.

“We’re being attacked by a supernatural guard dog.” Stiles explained. “We need to leave this place right now. I don’t think there’s anything else we can do besides get our asses out of here ASAP.”

He was relieved beyond words when Kate nodded and shouted, “You heard him!” she shouted, “Let’s move it! Spread the word down the line and make sure to cover your asses with some light source!” 

Several members of the group immediately sprinted towards the nearest fire. A few others willing a light ball into shape before darting away. Allison and Lydia however, made a beeline towards him.

“Do you know where Scott is?” Allison asked immediately, face twisted in worry, “I haven’t-“

Stiles hurriedly interrupted her, “I saw him just a couple of minutes ago! I made him a Light ball and he’s probably with Gerard by now. He’ll be okay. What about the others? Danny? Heather?”

“I think I saw Danny but Heather…” Lydia swallowed, mouth falling open before she shook her head slowly. Stiles felt like he’d just been dumped into a body of ice cold water, “She was… It just happened as quickly that one minute she was there and the next she just… This thing came out nowhere. It grabbed her and pulled her into the shadows.”

He staggered back, the light in his palm flickering. Stiles couldn’t believe it. They’d just been talking a few hours ago! Heather had been alive at dinner time and now she was… She couldn’t just be...

Someone grabbed his arm and gave him a hard shake. Stiles looked down at the pale fingers holding onto him, following it up until he was staring into Allison’s determined face. “This isn’t the time,” she told him firmly. “We’ll mourn our friends later. Right now we need to get out of here. _ Alive _.”

He nodded, agreeing with her before gesturing for her to hold out her hand, “We need to stay in the light. Give me your hands. The Light glyph should keep whatever it is as bay long enough for us to make it to the RV.”

Lydia immediately stuck her hand out, letting Stiles’ shaking fingers draw the rune before holding her open palm up. As Stiles repeated the move on Allison’s hand, she asked, “What the hell is that thing that attacked us? You said it’s some kind of guard dog?”

“The thing from the diary. It wasn’t just a statue. It’s an actual creature guarding this place.” Stiles explained quickly, looking up at the approaching footsteps. 

It was Kate. And while she looked pissed as hell, there was a deadly look in her eyes that said this wasn’t where she was going to die. She was going to make it out of this alive. And in that moment, Stiles understood where Allison’s hero worship of Kate came from. There was another burst of gunfire from nearby. Followed by the sound of something big and heavy crashing down to the ground. It made Stiles jump and turn toward the noise, wondering fearfully how it had come from so close to them. What the hell was that? And more importantly, did he really want to know?

“We need to get out of here.” Lydia repeated, giving Kate a sharp look before asking, “Right _ now_.”

Kate glared at Lydia’s order before snarling, “Get to your vehicle.” 

Lydia nodded and grabbed Stiles by the collar of his nightshirt, as if she was afraid he might not follow. Stiles stumbled on the first step before he managed to match her pace. Allison led the rear, crossbow held up in anticipation of an attack. Several vehicles rumbled past them, all of their occupants paled faced and holding onto some kind of weapon. Allison yelled at all of them to keep their lights on and to get to on a truck _ now _. They passed several people who had their own light sources in hand - flashlights, oil lanterns, crude torches or magical lights like Stiles and Lydia. Each and every one of them had a light source in one hand and an armful of their stuff in the other.

Stuff.

_ Shit. _

“I need get the journal, my books,” Stiles said, not wanting to point out that they’d have to double back to get to his tent.

Allison shot their surroundings a quick look before hesitating, “Can’t it wait till morning?”

Stiles shook his head, “Can’t risk it. I’ll go on my own. You two go on to the RV, I’ll catch up.”

“Like hell you are!” Lydia hissed, “I’m coming with you to watch your back.

“Fine!” Allison snapped, “Just be quick about it.” 

Lydia grabbed his hand and ran in front of him all the way to his tent. She ran with a single minded focus, ignoring the blood and dead bodies that littered their path. For his part, Stiles focused on Lydia’s hair as it bounced against her back. It shone so brilliantly under the combined light shining out of their palms. It looked like living fire with every move Lydia made. He was so caught up in watching Lydia that he missed it when they came to a halt in front of his tent. And as soon as Stiles realized where he was, he wished that he hadn’t.

His tent was ruined. The tarp was ripped to shreds and was nothing but tatters now. A man Stiles had talked to on the first day lay lifeless in front of the door to his tent, blue eyes wide with terror as they stared into the night. Stiles froze, his stomach rolling with a wave of fresh nausea.

Lydia cursed softly under her breath before urging Stiles forward. “Grab what you need.” 

Stiff with fear and sickness, Stiles nodded. He wanted to listen to Lydia and tear his eyes away from the dead man laying only inches from where he’d been sleeping. 

_ ‘The Tower. Death. _’ The memory of Lydia’s voice whispered quietly in his ear. 

“_Shit _ .” His lips trembled as he pressed them together and took a long step over the driver’s body. _ He couldn’t even remember the man’s name. _ That thought more than anything else made his eyes sting with regret.

Rubbing the back of his free hand across his mouth, Stiles whispered a quiet prayer for the dead man before fumbling around for his things. Lydia held the torn tent out of the way, making room for Stiles to maneuver more easily. Good thing he had listened to Scott for once and kept his stuff inside the bags instead of scattered around his tent. All he had to do was stuff his vials box back into his hiking bag, zip it up and put it on. He was hefting his duffel bag full of books on the same hip as his satchel when he heard a low hiss. 

Stiles turned around sharply, palm held afloat as he inspected the shadows behind Lydia. Her face was white as a sheet as she stared over his shoulder. Stiles turned around to look behind him before turning back to ask, “Did you hear that?”

Lydia nodded, hand shaking as she held the light over her head. “We need to go.” 

Stiles nodded, wincing when he stumbled against the dead man before taking hold of Lydia’s hand. Fear made them run faster than before, racing past slowly lumbering vehicles as they hurried towards the front of the convoy. A lot of the vehicles were opting to break the single file and drive past the slower trucks. The end result was a giant cloud of smoke that had engulfed the front half of their campsite. It made it hard for Stiles to see where the RV was. 

“Do you see it?” Stiles asked, paranoia forcing him to check behind his back over and over again. Where the hell was Scott? Had he made it? He hoped his best friend was still alive. Any other possibility was just... 

No. Stiles refused to entertain the notion that he might have been killed. That didn’t stop him from letting out a relieved cry when he saw who was sitting in the driver’s seat of a familiar looking RV rolling towards them. Scott honked the horn while Allison, who stood behind him, frantically gestured behind her. Danny was standing in the doorway hanging half out of the vehicle as he squinted through the dust – oh the sight of him alive and well almost made Stiles burst into tears of relief right there and then. 

He had one hand covering his mouth but Stiles could see his expression brighten when he saw the Stiles and Lydia, waving his arm to grab their attention. He thumped one hand against the side of the RV, causing the large vehicle to slow down considerably. 

“Get in!” Danny shouted, holding his hand out for Lydia. 

Lydia ran ahead immediately, her own bag bouncing against her hip. Stiles was quick to follow, wincing at every thump his heavy duffel made against his hip. From somewhere ahead of them came an almighty sound of metal and glass colliding. A truck had probably hit something. He really hoped it was minor accident or else the rest of the vehicles might get be stuck behind it. And wouldn’t that be a shit way to die.

The jeep behind the RV was honking long and hard at them, obviously urging them to get a move on. Stiles flipped the driver a bird as Danny pulled Lydia in. The jeep driver was glaring at them, flickering his lights at the RV before mouthing something that definitely included a few curse words. Stiles was ready to yell a few obscenities back before he hopped inside the RV when the man’s eyes darted up to the rear view mirror.

The man froze just as Danny’s hand grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him in, yelling, “Drive, Scott!”

* * *

_ The usually peaceful lake was being visited by a small group of water nymphs and kelpie children. The lanky kelpie’s were dancing playfully around the water nymphs, tossing their heads and bounding away every time the nymphs would come to catching them. _

_ Derek stood by the lake edge and envied their innocence. He wished he could be like them, that he still had the ability to let himself go and enjoy the smaller pleasures of life. _

_ The sounds of children’s play almost masked the careful footsteps that were approaching him. Derek fought down a tired sigh. He had hoped that no one would follow him after his exit from the meeting. With how everyone had been arguing, Derek had thought that no one would miss him. In hindsight that had probably been a fool’s hope given how he’d been the reason for the meeting to be called in the first place. _

_ “There you are,” Cora said finally. This time Derek flat out sighed. He honestly would have preferred Laura or Adrian over Cora right now. He wasn’t sure if he had the patience to deal with Cora’s straightforward, blunt ways. _

_ Waiting until Cora was standing next to him but not looking away from the lake, Derek asked, “Did mother send you?” _

_ “She was worried,” his younger sister replied. Youngest now, he corrected himself internally. Derek clenched his hands into fists, wincing when his claws nicked the soft flesh of his palms. Uncurling his fists, Derek wondered if he would ever get used to being stuck in his beta form? Surely a day would come when he would forget that his claws and fangs were on display for the whole city to see. With a bitter huff, Derek realized he’d grow used to this form the same day he’d stop feeling guilty over Emily, William, and his father’s deaths. _

_ Derek was surprised when Cora didn’t delve into conversation immediately. But his normally confrontational sister remained standing next to him, observing the little tableau before them _

_ The nymph laughed, sounding like a merry babbling brook when one of the kelpie frolicked around her before butting its heads into her back. A second kelpie tossed its mane, flicking drops of water onto the nymph’s face before moving forward to butt against the same nymph’s front, eager to be petted. Derek watched the nymph laugh again before she moved to pet both kelpies. She whispered something to the second water horse that made it neigh and sink under the water. _

_ The other children didn’t notice one of their comrades slinking up behind them under the waters, too busy playing with the other nymphs. Derek felt his lips quirk up when the kelpie slowly rose out of the waters, head lowered and tail flicking in excitement. He watched the kelpie raise itself up to his hind legs and drop its fore feet down into the lake with an almighty splash. The other kelpie children jumped and whinnied in alarm at the sudden splash of water against their hindquarters. _

_ Cora laughed quietly as the children chased the prankster kelpie around the edge of the lake but didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between them, longer and longer until Derek could no longer ignore his discomfort. _

_ He kept his eyes on the nymph holding up a long piece of seaweed for the kelpie’s curious examination when he asked, “Did she tell you to keep an eye on me and make sure I didn’t do anything foolish?” _

_ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cora shake her head as she let out a loud and indelicate snort, “No. She simply sighed and went back to talking with the other council members about the preparations that need to be made if we are to welcome the other packs in time. There’s a lot to be done in case you haven’t notice. We’ve got a whole city to set up before the winter snow makes travel impossible. I expect we’ll be busy for many years to come.” _

_ Grunting in agreement, Derek wiped his bloodied hands carelessly against his thighs before sticking them into the pants pockets. Out of sight, out of mind. Too bad for him that the claws pricked against his thighs anyways, causing Derek’s shoulders to sag slightly. _

_ He shouldn’t have the luxury of forgetting. After all, this was all his fault. _

_ As though she had picked up on his thoughts, Cora stated, “It wasn’t your fault. _ Isn’t _ your fault. And anyone who tells you is a moron.” _

_ With a mirthless laugh, Derek finally turned to face his younger sister, “Who else can you blame?” Derek asked, making an irritated face when the words lisped against his fangs. “If it’s not my fault then whose is it? If it wasn’t for me, _ no one _ would be in this position.” _

_ Locking her jaw in a familiar show of stubbornness, Cora crossed her arms before staring him down. Oh goody. She was going to argue back. This was the very _ last _ thing Derek wanted. _

_ “Are you forgetting you had been framed for murder? Or the fact that Argat had been planning this for a while? And I’m referring to both the curse _ and _ his plans to run us out of court? Mother and the others had been planning to come here for over a year now. What happened to you simply hastened their plans by a few months. We would have made it here anyways. It was literally only a matter of time.” _

_ Bitterness, loss, guilt all twisted together into painful knots at the base of his stomach. Shame made Derek turn his face away. _

_ It also made his voice dull and lifeless when he stated, “At least then we _ ** _all_ ** _ would have made it here alive.” _

_ He could remember that as though it was yesterday. Waking out of a fever dream to see Isaac and Emily exchanging frantic, hushed words. Feeling rudely awakened when he realized that they were discussing if it would even be wise to tell Derek what had happened to his father and William in his condition. _

_ Derek doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the look of shock and grief that had passed over Emily’s face when he’d pushed himself up on one arm and hoarsely demanded them to tell him the truth. Or the way her voice had trembled when she’d told him that their father and brother had been caught trying to leave the court. They’d been thrown into the dungeon along with all the other magical people who’d been part of the King’s court. _

_ They had all been executed at sunrise. _

_ He remembered the gentle hand Isaac had lain on his shoulder, firmly telling Emily to stop before asking Derek to drink more of the sleeping tonic and rest. Derek remembered staring at Isaac in shock, wanting his pack brother to tell him that it was a lie. That his father and brother hadn’t been burnt to death just for being werewolves. _

_ But Isaac had simply held the small bowl up to his mouth, urging him to drink. _

_ “You don’t know that.” Cora replied almost immediately. Derek saw her turn and felt her grab his arm firmly, “For all you know more of us might have died if we had waited. I overheard Peter telling mother that Argat had plans to have us all killed in our home! He was going to order his Hunters to make sure we were trapped and to then burn the building down. Argant’s schemes ran deeper than what he did with you. He had been planning for this long before you came into his sights.” _

_ Cora gave his arm a hard squeeze before taking her hand away. Her voice was firm as the Earth beneath them when she said, “We’re lucky to have made it here alive. There’s no other way of approaching the situation.” _

_ Tossing an appalled look at his sister, Derek wondered how she could even _ think _ of such a thing. Argat’s vendetta against the magical community in the King’s court was nothing but speculation and rumors. There wasn’t any concrete proof that Argat had been hatching schemes against the werewolf and other supernatural families. _

_ On top of which. _

_ Lucky? _

_ How was it lucky that Derek had begun a _ war _ ? _

_ How was it lucky that werewolves and other magical creatures were being hunted down and cursed into showing their true faces, unable to revert to human form? _

_ How was it lucky that they were being treated and hunted down like rabid animals? _

_ How was it lucky that the Hunters were forcing witches from some of the most powerful covens in the land to do their bidding and repeat the curse over and over again until they were drained of power and then killed? _

_ How was it lucky that magical creatures were running for their lives from a group of humans who wanted nothing more than to kill them all just because they happened to be different? _

_ She clicked her tongue irritably at Derek’s shocked face before muttering, “You know what I mean. Father wouldn’t want us to mourn him. He’d want us to carry on with our heads held high. You know as well as I do that he’d scold you if he saw you now. He’d tell you to honor his life rather than use his death as an excuse to stop living. It would be a dishonor to him, William, and Emily if you use them as an excuse to...” Cora waved a hand here, gesturing at Derek’s body before saying, “act like a martyr.” _

_ Anger flickered in him, hot and sudden. Derek looked away from his sister, voice sharp when he spoke. “I am _ not _ acting like a martyr. I am taking responsibility and accepting the consequences of my actions.” _

_ “There’s a difference between accepting responsibility for your actions and throwing yourself a pity party.” Cora retorted, but not unkindly, “As for your actions, all you did was fall in love. That’s not something you can control much less take responsibility for. It’s rather like trying to take blame for a flood caused by too many rains. It’s just foolish Derek.” _

_ Derek bit down on his tongue to stop himself from arguing. _

_ Maybe he couldn’t have stopped himself from falling in love but that didn’t mean that Derek couldn’t have controlled himself better. _

_ He could have fought the urge to action, could have kept himself away from the Princess rather than follow his weak heart. He could have taken his responsibilities more seriously and kept a closer eye on her. _

_ His biggest mistake however was not anticipating that she could have been a target. That someone would have used her to get to the King. _

_ Derek still had nights where he’d wake up in a cold sweat, frantically trying to wipe her blood off his hands. Derek rubbed his hands against his thighs once more before pulling them out of his pockets and wished he could forget. _

_ Once again, he was tempted by his mother's offer to take the memory away, but he did not deserve absolution. Forgetting what had happened would mean running away from the consequences of his actions. And he couldn’t allow himself to do that. _

_ He knew his mother meant well and was thinking of his health when she’d offered to take his memory away of that night. But forgetting about what he’d stumbled upon that night in the field would have meant losing his memories of the Princess as well. _

_ And those were bittersweet memories he cherished too deeply to ever seriously consider having them taken away from him. _

_ Cora put a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him towards her, “Come. Let’s go back home. Isaac’ll show up any minute now saying it’s lunch time.” _

_ Derek quietly followed. _

* * *

It was only a few hours into the new day and Stiles was ready to give up. 

Somehow their caravan had managed to make it out to the other side of the gorge but not without losing another truck along the way. The driver had dozed off at the wheel and crashed straight into the side of the canyon. At least they hadn’t lost any more people in the accident. 

However, the number of trucks and vehicles that had pulled out of the canyon had been a sorry sight - only twelve out of the fifty one vehicles had survived the attack. Their crew stood in a similar way. They’d lost more than half their crew during the attack, and another half of the survivors were hurt in some way. Very few people had managed to make it out of last night unscathed.

Gerard had looked pissed as hell when Allison had reported their numbers back to them. The fact that they still had the RV, most of their supply trucks, and the big driller along with most of the Jeeps had mollified the man slightly. He’d also given the order to return to the canyon after day break to salvage whatever they could from the camp and to bury their dead.

When they’d rolled back to the campsite, Stiles had been viciously glad he hadn’t had anything to eat. The smell rising up had been… 

Thank God for Lydia who’d immediately passed a small bottle of Vicks around, instructing everyone to put some under their noses and to cover the lower half of their faces while they worked. 

That was one thing Stiles had been so fervently thankful for. At least his friends had made it out of the ordeal alive. 

Well. Almost all of his friends. 

Heather had been the only one from their group who hadn’t survived. 

Shortly after they’d stepped off the RV, Stiles had said he’d go find Heather. Allison had followed with quiet footsteps. They wandered around the ruins, asking a few crew members if they’d seen Heather’s body. It took them awhile to find her but eventually, they did. 

Somehow, her body had gotten tangled up in the remains of someones tent. She’d been tossed up against the rocky wall on the far side of the camp. Her torso was twisted in a way that made Stiles’ stomach drop. There were dark splotches of blood here and there on her body, the tent’s fabric sunken in. His stomach lurched at the realization that the creatures had...

Stiles swiped his arm against his eyes, wiping away the wetness there and told himself it was just sweat.

“She probably died quickly,” Allison offered, sounding as tired and worn down as he felt. “Given how fast it happened... she probably didn’t even realize what was going on.” 

Unable to let himself process any kind of placation to such devastation, he shrugged and walked forward, wanting to pull Heather out and put her to rest himself.

Allison stepped forward a second after him, face stoic as they pulled the blood soaked material off Heather’s lifeless body before picking her up. Stiles kept his eyes to the front, trying not to think about how heavy the body in his arms felt. He wouldn’t have thought a death body would weigh so much. 

He ashamed to say that he’d felt grateful when Kate had walked into them, frowning at the pair before telling them to lay the body down. “You both have more important things to do than help with the bodies. Allison, you need to go help Scott salvage all the supplies you can from the vehicles we left behind. Stiles, go help Danny and see if there’s anything left behind in the tents that we can use.”

A part of him had wanted to argue, wanted to say that no, he owed it to Heather to lay her down in peace. But he was ashamed to admit that he was mostly relieved. That the gruesome task had gone to someone else. Then again, being told to play scavenger with the dead’s possessions was just as gruesome, if not more, right? 

Stiles went to find Danny, who was assigning different tasks to his crew. “Stiles. Check the tents around your area. Keep an eye out for any sleeping bags, tents, food, stuff like that. Anything that might help us once we go up the mountains.”

With an obedient nod, Stiles went to find his tent. 

Kneeling in front of the mess, Stiles eyed the torn material before sighing and tugging the stakes out of the ground. It wasn't salvageable but still he worked it together into a messy ball and shoved it into its bag. Maybe they could turn the torn tents into a rope of some kind. 

More importantly, he’d have to find another tent, or share with someone. Maybe Scott’s if his tent had survived. Stiles pawed through the few items he’d accidentally left behind – a pair of socks, a pocket knife, his cell phone. The latter was well and truly broken however, to the point it refused to turn on. But he still stuck it back into his pocket. Maybe Danny could literally work some magic with it and get it back to working condition. Thank God their two SAT phones had survived last night. He’d be able to call his dad at least.

Stiles forced his brain to shut down after that, moving from one tent to the next in a methodical manner. He ignored the huge dark patches of blood that had soaked into the ground. Tried not to touch anything that looked or smelled like blood and only threw up twice in a whole three hours. He made himself follow a checklist. Evaluate the tent first and see if it was salvageable. If it was, pack it up and throw it into the keep pile. If it was too torn up to use, just ball it up and kick it towards the discard pile. 

Next he’d go through whatever belongings had been left behind and sorted them into two piles as well. There were a lot of clothes that the others could use but mostly, there was a lot of personal stuff that Stiles kept hesitating to throw away. Like the oval pendant that had fallen out of an open bag pocket. Or the book with the “To my dearest Luke, Think of me whenever you read this. Love Angela.” dedication written on the inside. Stiles put those things away in a third pile. One or two items from each tent that he’d put away in a box or trunk so that they could return them to their owners loved ones. It was the least they could do. It’s what those people would want right?

The sun crept higher and higher into the sky as Stiles worked. As the day warmed, Stiles pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around his waist. He forgot about his tiredness, thirst, hunger – everything. He was so lost in his head that he missed Danny walking up to him. Hell, Stiles didn’t notice Danny till he turned around and almost bumped into the man.

“Whoa,” Danny smiled weakly, hands on Stiles’ shoulders to hold his steady, “You alright?” 

Blinking owlishly at the other man, Stiles shook his head before throwing the torn tarp ball into the junk pile. “Need help with something?” he asked. 

But Danny shook his head, continuing on as easy as you please. “I’m fine. I thought you might want to take a break, eat something, get some rest. You’ve been out here since morning.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, already turning his back to Danny.

But Danny’s hand returned on his shoulder, firm as he forced Stiles to turn around and face him. “That wasn’t a suggestion.” He pointed Stiles towards the stones around the campfire, “Over there. Come on.”

Stiles sighed tiredly and allowed himself to be led towards the flat stones. He’d barely sat down before he felt weariness smack into his head like a chair. “There it is,” Danny said, handing Stiles an energy bar, “It’s finally catching up to you. Here. Take small bites okay? I’ll put the second one down here.”

As Danny pulled a bottle of water out of his bag and opened it, Stiles unwrapped the energy bar and took a hefty bite out of it. He carefully chewed on it and finally looked around the remains of their camp. Most, if not all, of the bodies had been removed. A good many of the tents had been taken down as well. There were small piles of stuff scattered around, with people moving between them and their trucks.

He saw Allison pick up two sleeping bags, tuck one under each arm, and take them towards one of the trucks. Scott was standing next to Kate, gesturing towards the truck that had smashed against a huge rock. And Lydia… huh. Where _ was _ Lydia?

“Know where Lydia is?” Stiles asked as he accepted the water bottle. One sip and suddenly he was chugging half the bottle down. God. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been.

Danny forced the bottle out of his hands with a wry, “Take it easy, you’ll drown yourself. And she’s lying down in the RV.” Stiles raised a questioning eyebrow but Danny was already explaining, “She said she had a headache. Something about there was some inherited psychic connection with death and how this place had too much negative energy that she couldn’t deal with.”

Huh. “Weird and interesting.” Stiles declared before finishing the rest of the energy bar off. He gestured for Danny to hand the water over, speaking through his full mouth, “Know anyone else who might need help?”

“You could ask Matt or the others,” Danny suggested, “Matt’s been trying to find his camera that he _ swears _ he took pictures of those shadow monsters with.”

Stiles would sooner eat live wasps than willingly interact with Matt. He didn’t have the filters, or the fortitude left to handle someone he found so distasteful. The sentiment might have shown on his face because Danny shot him a disapproving look. 

“Stiles. Don’t be that way,’ he warned. 

Stiles turned his attention towards the second energy bar and tore it open before taking a bite out of it. All the while pretending he hadn’t heard Danny. But Danny ignored his actions in return, going on to say, “I get that you don’t like him but after what’s happened, we need to stick together. We can’t afford to let petty grudges hold us back.”

Aggressively stuffing the rest of the bar into his mouth because he was so done with this conversation, Stiles shoved the empty wrappers into his pocket and forced himself to chew and swallow the too large bite down. 

“I get it, Danny. I really do. If I see Matt, I’ll give him a hand. How’s that?” Stiles said as least sarcastically as possible.

He was relieved when Danny’s stern expression melted away into a sad kind of resignation as the man stared around him. Stiles hesitantly followed Danny’s gaze, landing on the large puddle of dried blood smeared around the blackened remains of a dead fire. 

“I can’t believe we lost so many people last night.” Danny sounded like he had aged ten years in those few words. 

“How many did we lose?” Stiles asked quietly, throat tightening in anticipation, “All together?”

Danny squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he replied, “Over 150.”

Stiles couldn’t quantify or comprehend that number when it was applied to people he had known and interacted with less than a day ago. “That’s like, 60 percent of our crew,” he croaked, “More than that.” He wished he wasn’t standing out in the open like this because Stiles would really use a pillar or a wall that he could lean again for strength. 

Stiles turned his face away from Danny’s tired nod, unable to process the loss. This was a nightmare. A complete and utter unmitigated nightmare. 

“At least the rest of us are still alive,” Danny made a miserable attempt at his being his usual optimistic self. “The Argents made it out alive and okay. Scott, Allison, Lydia are okay too. And whatever attacked us didn’t get the food trucks either. We’re damn lucky we didn’t accidentally set one of the trucks on fire when we were moving out.”

Stiles was _ severely _ tempted to bitch that Gerard and Kate making it out alive wouldn’t strictly be on his ‘bright side’ list. Nowhere near it. Admittedly that was because Stiles was still smarting at how Gerard had blamed him for what had happened in the canyon. He’d laid responsibility for all the casualties squarely at Stiles’ feet. Just remembering it made Stiles feel weak and shaky all over again.

Gerard had hissed, “Your incompetence killed these people.” 

His eyes had blazed with a cold fire that had made Stiles take a fearful step back. And any defense Stiles could have made died when he had caught the same look flashing in Kate’s eyes. Stiles wondered then, and was still wondering, how many other people in the camp blamed him for what had happened.

He had been grateful for Scott’s presence behind him, especially when his best friend had laid a warm hand over his shoulder and said, “It was an accident. It happens. You can’t blame him for that.”

Lydia had spoke up in his defense as well, voice sharp and firm, “None of us figured out what the warnings were about or that they talked about a physical creature. We’re all to blame if you want to use that logic.” 

He hated that Gerard had said, in front of everyone, exactly what Stiles had been too scared to admit. 

That it was his fault. That he should have known better. Guilt had been eating away at his conscious anyways and then to hear Gerard give life to his fears so easily? 

Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing as he did so. “I guess so. But I’d say it was dumb luck that saved our asses.” 

Danny bumped shoulders with him, smiling big enough to show off his dimples. Stiles smiled weakly back. He was trying so hard to make Stiles feel a little better, it was hard not to respond back in kind. 

“Let’s get a move on. There’s still a lot of ground we need to cover and we only have a few more hours of daylight left,” Danny nodded towards the piles Stiles had made before asking, “Which to keep and which to get rid of?”

* * *

**(Translated excerpt from Dr. Fenris’ journal)**

**Day 46 in Haven**

_ “An interesting thing that I have observed during my stay in Haven is the lack of magic in everyone’s daily lives. _

_ Rather, that is an incorrect summation and description of the situation. But there is a marked difference in the manner in which magic is used outside by humans and the way it is used here. _

_ We humans have established multiple schools of magic where humans can learn and specialize in various branches of magic. One can attend an institute of choice, opt to join an Order, or even join a coven. There are many ways through which any human can learn to use magic. _

_ Now, most magical creatures have their own special abilities yes, but none of them seem to be capable of making use of runes or concocting brews the way humans are. So you might see a fire nymph entrance someone by forming a fiery bird out of thin air, or a sightless earth fairy push a gigantic oak out of its place with a clenched fist. There are faeries who work at the bakery and work positive energies into tarts and cakes to help people have good days. _

_ But you won’t see any of them practicing magic the way we do. _

_ In fact, other than the Emissaries and a few other humans, magic doesn’t appear to be an integral part of life here. The Emissaries and humans knowledge of magic is limited mostly to the healing arts. I will explain the reason for this further on. However, I must pause to wonder if shifters are inherently incompatible with human magic. _

_ Regardless, I feel beyond strange being in a city filled with magical creatures but little to no magic. _

_ Stranger still is going to sleep in the home of someone who doesn’t bother with any kind of protective wards or stones. Ɣ chuckles at my discomfort every time, telling me that no one would dare attack an Emissary within the city. _

_ “There’s no need for any wards in the city.” Ɣ tells me, “We have very strict rules in place in order to ensure the peace we have established will hold. No one wants a repeat of the initial negotiations. My alpha still makes a sour face at the memory of them. You’ll find very few houses warded here. In fact, many would take it as a bad sign. That you’re hiding something.” _

_ Ɣ and I spend most of our evenings talking. Now that I am well enough to walk on my own for short periods of time, I have taken to pacing around the main room as I talk. Ɣ remains in her seat by the fire and indulges my curiosity. _

_ Ɣ is a rare and amazing conversationalist, easily picking up on my train of thought and quickly offering a rebuttal in its place. She had been remarkable company in the past few weeks. _

_ The thought that I will miss her led me to ask if any humans, or creatures for that matter, left the city. While I cannot imagine anyone wanting to leave the safety of the city in favor for a world where there was always a chance of being killed by a bunch of prejudicial humans, I also cannot imagine anyone living completely cut off from the modern world. _

_ Ɣ’s explanation is shockingly simple. And that as well, is shocking in itself. _

_ There are many humans who leave the city for many years at a stretch in order to pursue their education. Due to the difficult journey, many of them opt to stay in their city of choice until they have earned their degree and then make the difficult decision of staying or returning to Haven. _

_ There was also a group of humans and shifters who would periodically go down the mountain and into the nearest village to buy some much needed supplies. After all, there was a limit to what they could grow and make on their own here. _

_ What I found most interesting was that many of the humans opted to return to the city - bringing back with them knowledge and information about the new world. After returning, these individuals would share their knowledge with the rest of the city. _

_ Many of them brought back books and/or became teachers. A few others set up their own fashion shops in the marketplace! That would certainly explain why I had seen some of the more recent fashions around the square and market area. _

_ And this did not apply to only the humans! If there were any creatures who were capable of appearing human, such as werewolves, skin walkers etc, and they hadn’t been cursed? They often left the city as well in search of knowledge. They were naturally at a far greater risk but thanks to the presence of certain families and humans on the outside, they at least had a safe place to stay while they studied. _

_ This led me to ask how any shifter or such managed to get through the magical training that was a mandatory part of any program offered by institutes and schools. It is common knowledge that students have to study magic alongside more mundane subjects such as mathematics, science etc. Learning magical history and theory cannot be a problem but selecting a major during higher studies and performing magic? That is beyond the capabilities of any magical creature! It seems that their very nature i.e. being magical themselves, limits them for performing any magic. _

_ I wind up asking too many questions of Ɣ, who rolls her eyes good naturedly at my curiosity. “You’re forgetting about herbs & healing.” She reminded me, “While more people opt for runes, brews, and binding and knots, there are many who opt for natural magic. Magic rooted in plants and herbs because it doesn’t require a lot of inherent magic. There are a few people who have shown talent with crystals but that is rare.” _

_ When she tells me this, I feel very much like a fool for having missed the obvious answer. It makes sense that any magical creature would opt to learn all they could of the healing arts. And it also explained the speed and precision with which Elizabeth had tended to my wounds right after finding me. I wonder if she had studied in the outside world. Perhaps that was where her kindness came from? I must ask her this the next time we meet. _

_ However this was not the shocking part of Ɣ’s revelations. _

_ No, the shocking part was something else entirely! _

_ While Ɣ was explaining how Emissaries were important in maintaining the wards and helping the Council hold the barrier in place, she let slip that thanks to the powerful magic that had been used to protect the city, time moves slower here! _

_ My nearly two month visit will account to a few years on the outside! _

_ “An unexpected side effect,” Ɣ explains with a tired smile. “You know how magic can be. However it has had its advantages.” _

_ I am still trying to comprehend this information when Ɣ distracts me by finally answering my old questions regarding every pack’s unique symbol. _

_ Before I delve into this explanation, I must make a correction to something I wrote about previously because I have only recently been informed of my mistake. _

_ Humans tends to refer to all magical creatures as ‘shifters’ due to the manner in which most creatures can shift between one form and another. I’ve been told that this is a highly inaccurate way of referring to all supernatural creatures. _

_ I suppose an apt comparison would be referring to pandas, deers and lions as mammals rather than their proper names. It’s not a habit that I need to break, and I still find myself forgetting to refer to different species by their proper names. Thankfully everyone here refers to each other by name more than their species (unless there’s a scuffle of some kind), so I haven’t made too big of a fool of myself. _

_ Back to every pack’s symbol. _

_ Now, along with every pack having their own designated area or territory to prevent any altercations from happening, they also have their unique symbols. Pack signs. Each pack’s territory will have markers installing along their territory line that show off the pack symbols. _

_ At first I had assumed that the symbols were equivalent to crests as observed in the human upper class and nobility. However, a pack’s symbol plays a larger role - especially for humans. _

_ The objective of humans carrying a pack symbol is not just to demonstrate their alliance but also to forge a pack bond with them. I’m not sure if this means a literal connection or a metaphorical one. _

_ While Ɣ refused to go into the details, it is clear that this is not a decision to be made in haste, for both humans and werewolves. Or any other creature who chooses to align with a pack. _

_ Once a pack bond has been established between an individual and the pack, there is no breaking it. _

_ “Selecting your family is a big decision.” Ɣ aptly summarized. _

* * *

The crew’s morale was all but broken when they left the canyon behind for good. 

Only the fact they had not lost the mission, their supplies, or their leaders kept the caravan functioning. Gerard and Kate’s had taken to a moment to address the remaining crew before they had burned their dead. They’d spoken firmly about shouldering their sorrow and carrying on. 

“You should mourn the friends you’ve lost. What happened was a tragedy and nothing else. And there’s nothing you can do about tragedies except accept them and try to live with it,” Gerard had told them, “Remember your friends and honor their memories. And give thanks that we’re still alive.” 

Everyone had walked back to their vehicles after that short speech, a few people staying back for a short while to watch the burning grave before walking away as well. Stiles had been one of the last people to leave, saying a quiet prayer for Heather before he began to move towards the RV. 

They had resumed their journey in a quieter and far more cautious state than before. Stiles had been near fanatical in the way he worked on his translations after that. He’d re-check his work over and over again, arguing fiercely with Lydia over whether the warning was literal or metaphorical. They poured tirelessly over the texts and translations, debating back and forth with the Argents as they tried to make sense of the dangers in front of them.

And all their effort had been for naught, Stiles thought bitterly to himself as he tossed another log into the fire. The ratio of dangers avoided versus traps they had stumbled into was terrible. It was probably 1:10 but Stiles was too scared to ask Lydia for the real number. In the space of the last month, their crew of almost a 100 people had now been whittled down to 57. 

The worst part was how most of their people had died succumbing to injuries gained while avoiding traps, or falling prey to them. 

Loathe as he was to admit it, Stiles had gravely underestimated the difficulty of this journey. And the people around him were paying with their lives. 

Along with, he’d overestimated their ability to safely get past the traps that Fenris had talked about in his diary. It was the strangest thing how he’d managed to avoid so many horrible situations thanks to luck. He just happened to find the canyon in the morning and walked through it before night fall. He’d tripped and fell down just as magical fire blew over his head. 

Added to that was how all the warnings were cryptic and vague enough to the point of being utterly useless! It made Stiles wonder if the old travellers had been given some kind of map or guide to prevent them from falling into the same traps that they’d been repeatedly falling into. A piece of paper or a pamphlet that told them to duck if they accidentally stepped on a seal or else they were going to have a curse thrown at them.

The most aggravating part of the whole process was that no matter _ how _ hard Stiles and the others would try to prevent injuries? Someone would _ always _ wind up getting hurt! Stiles himself had barely avoided being hit by a curse that looked like a ball of black and purple mass of smoke. Lydia had almost lost her head thanks to, of all the things, a giant blade swinging by. Of _ all _ the stupid clichés. 

Stiles gave the diary a bitter look. He wished that there was a magically legal and non-soul threatening way to bring Fenris back to life because Stiles wanted to have words with the man. So many words. Stiles wanted to shake him and demand an explanation over why Fenris would include such vague warnings in his journal. 

He also wanted to shake Fenris for not explaining that, the higher they went up the mountains, the more narrow the path would become. Stiles had actually facepalmed when they’d arrived at a point where _none_ of their vehicles, not the RV or the Jeeps, could continue. He’d felt like an idiot not having anticipated this because _it was a damn uninhabited mountain_ _range_. They shouldn’t have expected there to be actual roads winding around the mountain that would let them drive all the way up to the city.

Ugh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to sleep on the RV’s floor for just one night. That tiny box would be cold but being inside it would have meant being protected against the icy winds that blew every night. 

As the wood popped and cracked cheerfully, Stiles sullenly thought it was probably unfair of him to rail against Fenris for being so damned vague in the journal. After all the city was _ meant _ to remain hidden, especially against any people who might want to hurt them. They'd founded the city because they hadn’t wanted to be hunted down like animals so of course they’d take necessary precautions to ensure their safety.

Speaking of which. 

Stiles pulled the journal out of his jacket and ran his thumb against its spine. He’d pushed the book open as much as he dared and realized that Heather’s guess had been right. Stiles had even pulled a thin strip of paper out of the spine, clear proof that someone had torn two pages out of the journal. Stiles wondered what kind of information those pages held that someone had torn them out. And who had done so? It had to have been someone who could read the language. Maybe his grandfather? But why would he do that? Was the information written on those pages so dangerous that he couldn’t let others see it? 

A bitterly cold wind brushed its fingers against the nape of his bare neck. Cursing, Stiles shivered and yanked the hood of his thick jacket back up. He didn’t think it was possible for it to get colder and this mountain just kept proving him wrong every day.

“Heads up,” Allison said from behind, stepping over the rocks they’d put around the fire with two food trays in hand. Stiles hurriedly stuck the journal back inside his jacket and eagerly accepted his meal. 

He poked the half frozen mashed potatoes around a bit before scooping a bite up. When the food crunched in his mouth, Stiles threw the fork down into the tray, “This is my least favorite variation on frozen foods. Ever. And that includes the time someone dared me to try unflavoured breast milk ice cream.” 

Looking up at the tired, haggard faces around the fire, he saw a few weak smiles but mostly, everyone seemed stuck inside their own head. 

Allison sat on his left and looked close to passing out, leaning heavier and heavier on his shoulder as the seconds passed. On her left sat Matt, shivering as he held his hands up to the fire. Danny looked woozy, like his concussion hadn’t gone away yet. Poor guy had slipped on some ice and hit his head falling down. Lydia sat on his other side, looking beautiful but wane as she chewed on her canned peas and carrots. 

Similarly, Kate looked good as well. Probably the best out of all of them. Where Lydia looked like a flower trapped in the snow, Kate looked like she belonged here. In some place cold and barren and tough as nails. She was giving off some serious evil snow queen vibes if Stiles was completely honest.

“Anyone got any good stories to share?” Stiles asked, not letting his eyes linger too long on the bandage wrapped around Danny’s head, “Anything at all.”

Lydia was the first to look up, a weary look in her eyes. “A story?”

“Yeah. Something cheerful. We could all use a pick me up, right?” No one out right agreed to it but Stiles could see that no one was averse to the idea. For a moment, everyone’s tiredness seemed to melt away.

Stiles gave everyone an eager look, eyes lingering on Kate for a scant second before passing onto Matt, hoping for any ally at this point. “Any takers? Anyone want to share their drunk college stories? Fun anecdote from their childhood? A really bad joke?”

Allison was looking over her shoulder, doubtless checking where Scott had gone too. Stiles followed her gaze, frowning slightly as well. Scott had been gone for a while now. It shouldn’t take this long to take a leak. 

_ ‘He probably met someone with some problem on the way back or something.’ _Stiles dismissed his worry, chalking it up to general paranoia that seemed to have become the norm for the trip. Instead he pulled an energy bar out of his pocket, broke it in half and offered it to Allison. She accepted it with a smile, nibbling on it before cuddling up closer.

Someone cleared their throat. Stiles immediately looked up with a smile, wondering who was going to share. He was a little surprised to realize that it was Kate. She was leaning forward in her seat, her elbows resting against her thighs and a smirk on her face. 

“I’ve got a story. I think it’s only appropriate given where we’re going and what this trip is about.” Stiles silently prayed that it wasn’t another one of her ‘famous’ hunting trip stories. While a good part of the crew enjoyed listening to her stories, Stiles found himself blanching at how blood thirsty they tended to be. 

Also disturbing was his suspicion that Kate was keeping an eye on him. She always seemed to be somewhere close by these days. She was either breathing down his neck about the diary translations or asking questions about the cursed shifters mentioned in the diary or trying to get into his pants in a really unsubtle way that left him deeply rattled. At least Gerard had stopped questioning him at every turn. Now he just grilled Stiles for an hour at the end of their daily meetings. The problem was that he couldn’t figure out what Kate wanted. Why was she trying so hard? To what purpose? He just needed to figure out why she was doing what she was doing because then he could figure out some plan to get her off his back. Without pissing her off, obviously. 

The last thing Stiles wanted was a pissed off Kate Argent, hunter extraordinaire after his scrawny ass.

“What do you all know about Haven?”

Kate’s question made everyone exchange small, confused looks - Stiles included. Was she going to tell a story about the city? 

Allison was the first person to reply after a short pause, “It’s supposed to be a fairy tale. Haven’s this hidden city where all shifters were trapped in order to keep humanity safe.”

“There’s a story that shifters started a war against humans,” Matt picked up after Allison, glancing at her before looking back at Kate, “A lot of witches were caught in the middle but eventually humans managed to defeat the shifters. As punishment for going up against humans, the remaining shifters were banished to the city and trapped there.”

“I’ve heard that the witches actually teamed up with the shifters and tried to overthrow humanity together,” Danny said, tapping his spoon against his plate, “It’s why there’s all so many rules and regulations for covens. It’s to make sure that witches don’t try to start another revolution.” 

“Wasn’t there some part where the shifters were chased away from their homeland?” Lydia asked, glancing over at Stiles, “That’s the impression I got from the journal and it matches up with some of the texts that were unearthed in Portugal. Or was it Poland?”

Their small group buzzed with conversation as they exchanged what little information they knew of the city. Stiles however, kept his eyes on Kate. She sat still, smiling sharply at the others. Soon enough, her blue eyes locked with Stiles. They looked like chips of ice carved out of the very mountains they were attempting to pass through. 

When everyone’s voices began to fall, Kate spoke up again, “That’s not the whole story. The original story is a lot more...complicated.”

Stiles didn’t trust the way she paused there. It seemed too fake. He took another bite of his energy bar, ears and eyes locked on Kate as she began to tell her story.

“A long, long time ago, shifters and humans used to live together but never peacefully. The shifters were far more powerful than the humans. So naturally, humans feared them. They were scared of these creatures that could shift into a more powerful forms and kill them for even the smallest offence. Meanwhile, these shifters hated how there were nothing but human rulers all around them. Lording over them while they were the ones who should rule the lands. After all, they were faster, stronger, and more powerful. They were always scheming and plotting to figure out some way to turn the tides and rule over the land.

Now, there was a castle where a kind king had opened up his home to a few families of shifters when they’d begged him for help. He didn’t listen to his trusted advisors warning him that this would bring trouble. What the king hadn’t known was that the most influential shifter family had been secretly planning to take the throne over by any means necessary.” 

Stiles couldn’t help but raise a confused brow at this point. What kind of actual garbage was Kate telling them? He might not know a lot about shifters but given the manner in which Fenris had described them, they were hardly the sneaky, blood thirsty type Kate was conjuring up. And the journal didn’t include any weird stories like this.

But the others were enthralled, like snakes charmed by the snake charmer's flute. And Kate lapped up all their attention with a pleased grin. 

“The shifter families were patient. They spent many years establishing themselves in court. Stealing the king’s trust, all for the sake of their plan - to have one of their own marry the king’s only daughter. Now, the princess was said to be very beautiful, with the fairest skin and dark hair. Men were said to fall in love with her at first sight, struck by her beauty. The shifters had hoped to gain enough of the King’s favour that he would agree to the marriage. They had even begun to speak with the King about this plan, asking him if it would be possible for the princess to marry a worthy shifter. And the King approved their request because it seemed reasonable enough to him. Even the princess agreed to it at the time. 

But unfortunately for them, soon after agreeing to marry a shifter, she fell in love with the Argent knight who was charged to protect her.” 

“Argent?” Matt asked. “Any relations with you guys?”

“Yes. We weren’t known as Argent back then but that’s beside the point,” Kate waved a dismissive hand, “Anyways. The princess and the knight fell deeply in love and wanted to marry as soon as possible. Because he loved her daughter and wanted her to be happy, the King gave the couple his blessing. They were to be wed within a few weeks. But this spoiled the shifters plans to eventually take over throne. Angry that the King and princess had broken their promises and their plans were going to be ruined, the shifters decided to take their revenge. They would strike back against the King in the worst way possible, by killing the princess. They waited for their chance, hoping to catch the princess unaware. She was usually always accompanied by her knight or her handmaidens. Seeing that the princess preferred the company of the human knight over one of their own, the angered shifters decided that they could use the princess’s affections for the knight for their own benefit.”

As Kate paused for dramatic effect, it seemed to Stiles that the whole mountain suddenly stilled in anticipation. Even the wind seemed to have stopped in that moment. Everyone and everything around them was hanging onto Kate’s words. It was Allison who finally broken the silence to ask in a low whisper. “What did they do?”

“They used his name to draw her outside the castle and killed her.” There was a round of sharp inhales and a single horrified gasp. Kate preened, lapping their shock with delight, “The knight realized the plot too late and arrived just in time to exchange a few last words with the princess before she died in his arms. The heartbroken knight took her dead body back to the King. Naturally the King was outraged by the shifters treachery and betrayal. He swore an oath then and there to rid the world of all shifters. He formed an army that would hunt those monsters down so that no other human would suffer from the shifters treachery. He reached out to the biggest coven in the land and asked them to aid him but they chose to take the shifters side. 

But that was only because the shifters had threatened to kill their entire cover. So they were forced to fight the humans. Many innocent witches died as a result. And they kept being prosecuted for years to follow, until finally the truth came out. That’s the _ real _ story behind the city. That’s how the war between humans and shifters started. The rest. You can guess what happened,” Kate gestured at the group, “The humans managed to defeat the shifters by using their smarts and getting the smaller covens to work with them. Most of the shifters died during the war. The ones that were left, they were trapped in the city forever so that they would never hurt humans again.” 

Stiles wondered if he was alone in his severe skepticism because that? Kate’s little story? It didn’t add up for him. That wasn’t just his imagination, was it? That something about the tale was off? There was something _off_ about the details that made it all sound disingenuous. Everything stacked up too damn neatly, too cleanly into place, and all too damn conveniently. It felt too much like propaganda. 

He was relieved beyond words when Lydia leaned over to whisper, “I don’t believe a word of that story. You don’t either, do you?”

After making sure that Allison and the others weren’t paying attention, Stiles answered in the same low voice. “Not a bit. You’ve read parts of the diary, right? According to Fenris, the shifters were peaceful people who _ fled _ to Haven because they were being persecuted! What’s that word he used? The Great Purge? No way they were _ trapped _there like it was a punishment!”

Lydia’s eyes glimmered as a fresh log cracked and popped merrily, “It’s all too easy. In a humans good, monsters bad kind of way. It’s just too much like a story you tell kids to make sure that they behave. And I get the feeling she left some big details out.”

Could that be the feeling that Stiles had gotten? 

Together, the pair turned their gaze towards Kate, who was talking with Matt. Stiles and Lydia exchanged a look but don’t resume their conversation, instead they move onto a safer topic - discussing the weather and what were the odds that they might be hit by another snow storm within the next week.

Their journey had gotten more and more difficult in the last few weeks, particularly due to the horrible weather. Scott had dryly asked whose bright idea it was to try and find a path over a mountain in the snow season. Stiles, amongst many others, had answered by hurling a snowball at Scott’s head. 

The fact of the matter was that the snow just kept piling up, as though the mountain itself was averse to the idea that humans were trying to make its way up it. Personally Stiles was starting to suspect that the local legends about this mountain range having its hill people who worshiped demons? Might not have been as crazy as he’d first thought it to be.

For the last week or so, the camp’s magic users would take an hour before sunset to mark out a safe zone within which they could set-up camp. After that, everyone would stick within the boundaries, scared that one wrong step might accidentally trigger another trap. Unfortunately, with the weather being the way it was, Stiles suspected that frostbite might kill them sooner than any stray trap. But he was hopeful that they should arrive at the city soon. They just needed to find that cave Fenris had talked about and somehow work their way through the caves and they’d find the city. 

It was the final stretch of the journey and Stiles didn’t want to freeze any of his extremities off this close to the end. In fact, he’d just been saying that to Scott before he’d... huh. 

Where _ was _ Scott? He’d been away for too damn long now.

Stiles opened his mouth to say that he was going to go look for his best friend when a pale faced crewman ran up to their group. “It’s McCall.” She wheezed, words tumbling out as puffs of white fog. “He got... caught in a ... rock slide. He’s hurt. Badly. _ Really _ badly.”

Allison was on her feet before anyone else, “Where is he?” 

The lady immediately pointed behind herself. “This way. I’ll show you.” 

She’d barely finished her sentence before she began to jog, leading Allison and Stiles away from the others. He could heart someone else following, a fourth pair of footsteps crunching in the snow.

“He looked pretty badly hurt and we were too scared to move him,” The crewman was explaining, racing past three more campfires before heading towards the edge of the safe zone, “It’s lucky the wind died down just now and we’d never have heard him.”

As Stiles held the safety tape up for Allison and Lydia to duck underneath it, he prayed to God that Scott was okay.

_ ‘Please don’t let him be badly hurt. Please. Whoever’s listening, I’m begging you. I can’t lose Scott too. I’ll do anything so long as Scott isn’t too badly hurt.’ _

* * *

_ Derek waited for the human traveller to leave the room, watching his back as he exited the room with the beta he had come in with. She was with the Drake pack wasn’t she? Beth? No. Elizabeth. She was one of the alpha’s daughters. _

_ The doors had barely closed before his mother said, “You don’t trust him.” _

_ He turned to face her, allowing her to see his heavy frown, “Of course I don’t. We have no reason to. For all we know he could be a spy. The way he managed to get here is too convenient. He could have stolen the list of clues from a travelling family.” _

_ “That’s a rather paranoid line of thinking,” his mother linked her fingers together and rested her chin on top of the ledge they made, smiling faintly at Derek. _

_ Her amused tone only made him frown harder. _

_ So what if it was paranoid? That’s what had kept them alive till now wasn’t it? _

_ Not allowing any unknown humans to come anywhere near the city, keeping up the patrols as far as possible in order to make sure that the wards and traps were still intact, aligning themselves with the Appalachian hill people to make sure no strange people came too high up the mountains. They did all of that to make sure that no human would come even close to finding them. _

_ And then there was this human whose good fortune had allowed him to walk right up to their gates. _

_ Talia sighed, dropping her hands down to the table before gestured for him to step forward. He immediately crossed the room and stood on the other side of her table. When she quirked an eyebrow up at him, he walked around the heavy desk and came to stand by her side. _

_ She reached out to take a hold of his hand, mindless of the claws or the way his hand twitched at the sudden touch, and squeezed gently. Her eyes were filled with motherly concern when she met his gaze, “I know that you’ve been hurt in the past, but that is no reason to hold onto your hate and distrust for so long.” _

_ The urge to curl his hand into a fist and let his claws dig deep into the flesh of his palm was strong. Derek wanted to snap back, wanted to argue that while she might know the facts, she couldn’t even begin to imagine how he was feeling. How he still felt about what had happened. _

_ He held his tongue however, more out respect for his mother than anything else. _

_ She must have read his emotions however, either through the pack bond or his face, because she let out a tired sigh and let go of his hand. _

_ It was the latter that cut deep into his resentment and anger. “Fenris has been with us for over 20 years now. He’s even married into one of the packs. I believe we can trust him.” _

_ “Then why does he want to go back?” Derek couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What reason would he have to want to leave if he’s made a life for himself here? When he has family here?” _

_ Turning her gaze away so that she was looking out the window, Talia replied, “I suppose he wants to die in the same land he was born in. I can understand the desire to see your homeland one last time before you die. To be buried next to your ancestors.” _

_ Fear curled around his heart, visceral and sharp. It made Derek step forward and take hold of his mother’s hands. “Mom. You’re not dying, are you?” _

_ Talia stared at him in surprise before reaching a hand out to gently pat his cheek, “Not for a very long time if I can help it, dear. I simply meant that I can understand his desire. If you were to give me a choice then I would very much like to return to Ireland before I pass away. To see home one more time. To visit my parents graves and see our old home again.” _

_ Kneeling beside her chair, Derek nodded and pressed the back of her hand up against his mouth in a faint kiss, “I promise that when the time comes, I’ll take you back home.” _

_ She hummed quietly, carding her hand through Derek’s hair before asking, “Home, eh? You still don’t consider here home?” _

_ Derek waited a moment before hesitantly shaking his head. It had been years and years but he still couldn’t consider this city and its surrounding fields as ‘home’. _

_ Home was fields of green that seemed to go on forever, covered with a fog that would dissipate with the rising sun. Home was where his family had been well, whole, and respected by all - despite the fact that they were werewolves. Home was where he would pretend to drag his feet behind Emily, complaining that her shopping was taking too long and that he’d be late for his duties. Home was where he’d sit with his father in front of the roaring fire and tell him about his day, how being a knight was one of the greatest things he had ever done with his life. _

_ Home was where his father and brother had been killed by bigots. Home is where their caravan had been attacked a few days after they’d left, resulting in the death of many of their clansmen and his youngest sister. _

_ His home had burned a long time ago and Derek had never made place for another home in his heart on top of the burnt foundations. _

_ “It’s not the same,” Derek replied quietly, “There’s too many things I miss. Too many people.” _

_ Smiling faintly, Talia gave Derek’s cheek another pat before gesturing for him to stand up. Her grip on his hand persisted, tightened even when she said, “Nothing is the same anymore. Things can’t remain the same. That’s life and there’s nothing we can do about it either except make the best of it.” _

_ With another squeeze, harder than before, Talia let go of his hand and asked in a brisker voice, “Have you spoken to Kyle yet? He said that he wanted to see you.” _

_ Shaking his head, Derek answered. “I haven’t yet. I was going to after I met you. Did he say what he wanted to talk to me about?” _

_ “Something about your condition and a possible breakthrough.” _

_ This wasn’t the first time he’d heard something like this. Many Emissaries had tried to break the curse that had befallen on so many of their kind. But so far, no one had been able to figure out a cure. _

_ So while Derek knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up, his heart still leapt at Talia’s words. He was certain that some of it showed in his eyes as well when he searched his mother’s gaze questioningly. _

_ She nodded with a smile, “He might have found a way to break the curse. He seemed quite hopeful. More than anyone else before. I told him to explain what he planned to do and I think it sounds quite promising. This could be it.” _

_ Was it foolish to still hope that someone would find a way to break the curse even after all these years? Arguably yes. _

_ But there were a great many werewolves and creatures who still firmly held onto the hope that someone from the city, that one of the Emissary’s, would one day find a way to reverse the curse or to break it. _

_ But there were twice as many individuals who have resigned themselves to living a life where they would always wear their supernatural side on the outside. At least they lived in a city filled with other supernatural creatures so they never felt shunned or rejected. Although, they might have felt pitied a lot more than anything else. _

_ For his part, Derek was on the metaphorical fence. He hovered between the two groups, unable to make up his mind. On one hand, he knew that he ought to accept his fate and move on with his life. He just had to accept that this was how he was going to be for the rest of his life. _

_ But he still couldn’t give up the hope that maybe one day he’d be able to look human again. Despite how many times others had failed in the past. _

_ Nodding, Derek took a step back when someone knocked on the door. “I’ll go meet him right now.” He promised, turning to see who was opening the door. _

_ Laura stood in the doorway and cocked an eyebrow up at him, “Kyle’s asking for you, you know. Better get moving before he comes looking for you. We all know how well _ that _ goes.” _

_ With a long groan at the memory, Derek took his leave. _

* * *

His eyes burned in a way that they never had before. It was worse than the time he’d stayed up two nights in a row preparing for his fifth year runes exam. That had been one hell of a 48 hours and Stiles had sworn never to repeat the experience ever again. And yet here he was, up for 40 hours straight in a desperate bid to find something, anything, that might help Scott. Stiles knew it was dangerous to burn the candle at both ends what else could he do? Scott’s life hung in the balance. 

_ ‘Now if only I could figure something out about the panic attacks I’ve been getting,’ _ Stiles thought grimly, turning the page over. He’d already read the book twice but… 

He’d had an attack right after they’d brought Scott back to their camp and Allison had given him a shaky run down of Scott’s injuries. He’d had another one when he’d seen Scott this morning and overheard someone say that Scott wouldn’t make it. Two attacks in 48 hours, on top of not sleeping and emotional stress had really taken its toll on him. 

He glanced across the tent and wondered how Allison was dealing. She was sitting on Scott’s other side, holding his hand. Scott himself was fast asleep, under the influence of the strong sleeping draught Lydia had made for him. Stiles could almost fool himself into believing that Scott was sleeping like normal. Almost but not quite. His face was too pale and dotted with sweat. He was still in pain, even when under a magical sleep.

Stiles curled his fingers tight against the book, so horribly tempted to throw the damn book out of the tent. He hated that there wasn’t anything he could do. He _ hated _ how they were running low on supplies. The rate at which they’d incurred injuries, the materials used to making healing poultice and tonics had swiftly run out ages ago. All they could do was brew sleeping options and put Scott under to spare him the pain. Add to that the fact that the only healer left in the group had been killed several weeks before and Scott was the next best thing they had to a medic... 

Scott needed a miracle to survive at this point. 

Stiles let the book fall out of his hands and pressed an index finger each against the bridge his nose and sighed. What other way was there to save his best friend when he had a terrible fever, some internal injuries and oh yeah, broken both his legs? He was deeply regretting not picking healing at any point during his magical academics because that knowledge might come in handy right about now.

So far the only thing that was giving Scott any kind of a chance was the sleeping brew. Or you could call it delaying the inevitable. Depended on who you asked, like say, Matt. Stiles had full out clocked the guy out for saying that. While Danny had held him back, Stiles had shouted that at least they were trying to figure a way out to help Scott. Which was more than that Matt was doing anyways. 

Since the accident, he, Allison, Lydia, and Danny had been pouring over every medical book that they had on hand. They’d raided the medic’s bags in Scott’s tent first in the hopes of finding something there but nothing. It had been two straight days of frantic reading, searching, hoping and it had led to a big bag of bupkis. 

Stiles frowned down at Scott and wondered yet again what the hell had he been thinking going away from the safe camp area? Of all people, Scott knew better than to endanger himself like that! According to one of the guards, who had been the last person to see Scott alive and well, Scott had heard something just outside of their safe zone - by the rocks just outside of their camp’s light - and had gone to investigate.

“What the hell were you thinking going outside the taped area?” Stiles muttered under his breath, eyeing his friends’ sleeping countenance. Scott’s forehead was crinkled with pain. He was starting to breathe shallowly again. The effects of the sleeping brew were probably starting to wear off. Leaning over to grab the wash cloth, Stiles warmed it up between his hands quickly before using it to wipe Scott’s brow clean.

As he put the damp cloth back in its place, Allison coughed and rubbed a gloved knuckle against her eyes with a long sigh. “Did you say something?” She asked in a voice scratchy with disuse. Stiles wondered if she’d slept in the last two days either. 

Allison had stuck to Scott’s side as soon as she’d found him crushed underneath the rocks. And no one had been able to pull her away from Scott, not even Gerard and Kate insisting that she should take a short break to eat and sleep. There were dark circles around her eyes and her cheeks looked more pronounced than ever before. She looked like hell, which was exactly how Stiles felt. 

Closing his book, Stiles nodded down at his best friend. “Just wondering what he was thinking going away on his own to check some noise out. I really thought he knew better.”

“It must have something serious if he did what he did,” Allison pointed out quietly, reaching out to stroke a few strands of hair off Scott’s forehead. 

Her wedding ring winked at Stiles, the gold band shining dully under the lamp light. Stiles could remember their wedding like it was yesterday. He remembered how nervous but happy Scott had been, the look on Scott’s face when he’d seen Allison walking down the aisle, the way Scott’s voice had shook when saying his vows, the tears in Scott’s eyes when Allison had slid the ring on his hand...

“What did the guard say?” 

The question yanked Stiles out of memory lane and firmly back into the cold present. Silently he thanked Allison for bringing him back before making a questioning noise. Allison was staring down hard at Scott, frowning so deeply Stiles wondered if she was going to give herself a headache. “What did the guard say when you’d talked to him? That Scott had said that he’d heard something?”

Nodding, Stiles repeated the guards’ exact words, “He’d said that Scott had thought he’d heard something around eight feet away from the marked safe area. Then said he thought he saw a pair of bright blue eyes staring at him so he went past the tape to investigate on his own.”

Sighing heavily, Allison ran her free hand over her face before muttering, “It was a rookie mistake. He should have at least gotten someone else to go with him.” 

He wasn’t going to argue that, not for a second. And as soon as Scott was awake, Stiles was going to tell him that to his face _ and _ never let him live that decision down. Ever! He was going to tell Scott’s kids about it! Even Scott’s _ grandkids _ would know about their granddad’s extremely dumb decision to leave the safety of camp to go check something dangerous out _ without _ any kind of back-up. 

“He probably thought it was a hurt mountain goat or something. You know how he’s gets about animals.”

Allison chuckled, finally cracking a real smile after days, “Yeah. Probably thought he could help it if it’d gotten trapped or something.”

He heard someone walking past their tent, the sound of their conversation muffled. Stiles gave his wrist watch a quick check and winced at the hour. It was _ beyond _ late and he was coming close to being awake for 41 hours now. 

“You should get some rest,” He gently urged Allison when he saw her trying to stifle a yawn. “I’ll take the first watch and you can take over after dawn.”

“What about you?” She asked, blinking tiredly at him, “You’ve been up longer than I have.”

“’m not really feeling the urge to sleep just yet. Besides,” Stiles shrugged and held his book up, “I’ll read till I wake you up. Maybe I’ll find something by then.”

“If you stay up till dawn you won’t get any time to sleep.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He reassured her, passing her a thick blanket. “I’ll catch some shut eye during the day. I’m getting good at falling asleep on my feet now.”

Allison gave him a look _ heavy _ with disbelief, “You’re going to try to sleep during the day? When we’ll be walking through five inches of snow and are gonna be on the lookout for any traps hidden _ under _ the aforementioned snow?”

“Well when you put it like _ that _ it sounds like a bad idea.” Stiles teased. Allison mimed throwing the book at him, and he pretended to duck with a smile. “I’ll wake you up an hour before dawn?”

“Two hours,” Allison corrected him, slipping into her sleeping bag with a tired groan. “Or else I’m going to make you march in front of the group and keep poking you with a stick to make sure you don’t fall asleep.”

With a mock salute, Stiles turned the lamp light to low and waited for Allison to fall asleep. It didn’t take long. Probably less than a minute. As soon as she was breathing deep, Stiles was cautiously turning the light back up to a level that would allow him to read without straining his eyes. 

Time crawled to a still after that. Or maybe that was just his sleep deprivation talking. Or his frustrations. The text began to blur, turning into undecipherable smudges across the white page. Stiles’ eyes were glued to the book, body rocking slightly in his seat as the heavy feeling in his head grew and grew until it felt like his head was made of granite. There had to be something in here. Something… Anything…

Scott’s low, pained groan snapped Stiles out of the half sleep he had accidentally fallen into.

His body jerked into wakefulness, hand going for his belt before he remembered that they were safe. Scott groaned again, shifting restlessly under his blankets. Gently shushing his friend, Stiles picked up the vial Lydia had made earlier on. The almost jet black liquid sloshed around against the glass. He gave the half empty bottle a weary look before uncorking it. Stiles pressed the rim against Scott’s lips and coaxed him into downing the sweet smelling liquid. Although he choked on the last swallow, Scott finished the bottle off and was under almost immediately. Putting the bottle away, Stiles tried not to think about Lydia’s last words to him. She couldn’t make more than three more bottles of this brew. Which gave them, at best, another three days to find some way to help Scott. That was, if Scott could hold on for that long.

Sighing heavily, Stiles slapped his hands against his thighs and decided to go for a walk. Maybe the cold air would chase his sleep away and help jog his brain. Wasn’t exercise supposed to help get the brain working or something? 

Stepping out of the cramped tent, Stiles put his hands on his hips and pushed himself as far back as he could. His back let out a few satisfactory pops that made him sigh. That felt good. He twisted his torso to the right, and then left, before stretching his arms over his head and dropping them back down.

Shuddering at the cold wind that felt like knives against his cheeks, Stiles pulled his scarf up until it covered his mouth and nose before he began a slow trek around their small camp. There was barely anyone awake at this hour. Just the few night guards. Their faces were gaunt and tired as they stared into the fire, occasionally glancing around them to make sure they were still alone out here. 

All the bad luck and loss that had been following their expedition had taken its toll on the crew. There was an almost physical sensation to the paranoia that was hanging over their camp now. And tonight, it was especially worse thanks to the wind that was howling around them. The way the cold air was whistling past them and through the rocks, it sounded a lot like baying wolves or coyotes. But it was just the wind in the end and Stiles went about his walk.

With every step Stiles found himself wishing that he had picked healing as his magic specialty instead of runes and languages. Maybe then he could have realized some way, some method that would save Scott. He would have been useful in this situation instead of incredibly use_less_. As things were, Stiles couldn’t think of anything they could do. He either lacked the magical know-how or they didn’t have the necessary ingredients to put together the brew. Add to that the incredibly terrible weather they’d found themselves stuck in the middle off and Stiles was just… _ pissed off _. 

Angry at himself, at Scott, at the world in general, Stiles glared down at the rock in his path. He didn’t think twice about kicking the rock as hard as he could into the darkness. It clacked against another rock before falling into the snow. Stiles was tempted to kick a few more rocks into the dark but who knew if one stray rock might trigger a trap. Or worse, trigger an avalanche.

Besides which, the last thing Stiles wanted on his conscious was accidentally hitting a goat or something with a stray rock. '_Knowing my luck I’d probably wind up hitting a bear or a snow spirit in the head,’ _ Stiles thought to himself, snorting at his next thought. _ ‘Or a yeti.’ _

He stood in place kicking the pebbles gently before deciding that he’d been out long enough. A quick check of the time told him that he ought to get back and wake Allison up. She really would put him in front of everyone else and keep poking him awake. Allison McCall was someone who kept her promises, especially the threats.

Breathing through his mouth, Stiles squinted up at the sky and wondered when the storm would break before sweeping his eyes absentmindedly over the darkness. A flash of gold made him double take. A deep frown pulling his eyebrows down as stared into the darkness. 

“What the hell was that?” Stiles murmured to himself, taking a step closer towards the tape border.

He hadn’t imagined that, had he?

“Is everything alright?” 

The sudden question made Stiles jump and whip around, his heart up in his throat. He stared into the guard’s openly confused gaze before turning back to the dark. Nothing. Just the wind whistling around. No golden eyes staring at him from the dark. It was just his mind playing tricks on him.

Stiles forced himself to breathe and relax, dropping his shoulders before answering, “Yeah. Yeah. Thought I saw something but I guess it was just my imagination.”

The guard exchanged a look with her companion waiting a few steps ahead before shrugging, “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah,” Stiles gave her a tiny wave, watching her walk away before turning his attention back to the dark. 

Did sleep deprivation lead to hallucinations? Or was it some kind of trick? 

_ ‘Or what if it’s another creature?’ _ His paranoia whispered to him, “_Come back to finish the rest of us off after it hurt Scott. _” 

His blood ran cold at the mere prospect. No way he wanted a repeat of the canyon. No way, no how. There was only one sure fire way he could make sure that no one was watching them right now. Stiles’ hands trembled in a mixture of nerves and fear as he reached for his vial and drew a Light glyph on the back of his hand. The light that burst from his palm was as bright and sharp as the sun, highlighting the barren landscape around them. Including the dark shape that quickly ducked behind a large rock.

Stiles’ felt his breath catch, eyes widening when he realized that the body had been human. He took a step forward, unthinking of himself as his brain raced with possibility. What were the odds of a single human living so high up on a mountain? Were the Appalachian hill folk _ real_? Whoever it was, there had to be more than one person living this far up the mountains! Maybe there was a village! And where there was a village, there had to be a healer or a shaman! Which meant that there was hope yet for Scott!

“Is someone out there?” Stiles called out hesitantly but not too loudly in case he caught the attention of the patrolling guards. 

The wind answered back, pressing against the back of his thighs and knees before twirling away between the rocks. Beyond that, there was silence. Swallowing harshly, and hoping that he hadn’t _ really _ hallucinated the human shape, Stiles continued, “I saw you, you know. You can come out. I promise, I won’t hurt you. I just want your help.”

More silence. Even the wind seemed to have died down in anticipation, holding its breath along with Stiles as the man hoped to get some kind of an answer. Some, any indication that his plea had been heard and that he hadn’t imagined the eyes and the body ducking to hide behind the rock. He took a step forward, boots crunching against the gravel. Maybe if he jus-

His head jerked up at the sound of the distant howl, eyes widening when he realized that it _ wasn’t _ the wind. There were wolves somewhere on this mountain and they were howling with the wind! Just as quickly, Stiles caught sight of something moving and looked back down. Not one but _ three _ bodies jumped out from their hiding places and began to run away from him. 

“Wait!” Stiles called out, desperation causing his voice to rise high. High enough that he heard a questioning voice from behind him.

But before he realized it, Stiles was giving chase to the trio - a blonde woman, a dark skinned man, and another man with short curly hair. The curly haired man was in the lead, hopping from rock to rock like he was a mountain goat instead of a man. The other two lagged behind but were still far enough ahead of Stiles. 

And no amount of yelling for help or asking them to stop made them pause. They swiftly raced through the snow with a single minded focus. Only once did the curly haired man turn around to look at Stiles and the golden eyes he flashed Stile’ way made the human freeze momentarily. With his heart in his throat, thudding rapidly in a mixture of fear and exhilaration, Stiles realized that he _ hadn’t _ imagined those eyes after all. That particular realization helped him scramble hurriedly over the latest rock ledge that the trio had raced over. Meanwhile his brain was muttering that he was missing something important about the eyes. 

‘_Later! _’ Stiles told himself, grunting as he race into a cave the others had gone through. And immediately found himself at a fork. He held his hand up, light bouncing off the dark rock as Stiles squinted into the left tunnel and then the right in search of… 

There! There was movement right in front of him! Stiles hurried forward, stumbling as his foot caught against a stray rock. He reached out to steady himself against the wall, grunting when he felt his palm scrap against the rough surface. _ That _ was going to hurt like hell later. Thankfully he managed to stay upright. Aware that the trio’s lead was gaining, Stiles pushed himself to run harder through the winding maze. His lungs were already aching with every deep breath, pulling on the stitch on his side. Stiles was horribly tempted to stop and take a breather, suck in some cool air and ... hold on. 

He threw his hood back, tugging the scarf down his face to take a long whiff of the air. Warm air was from in front of him rather than from behind him. Did that mean he was close to the end of the passage? Curiosity came to his aid, allowing him to jog faster towards the corner that was coming up in front of him. How was it possible for warm air to be coming through the tunnel? Was there some kind of steam channel or… 

Stiles let out a startled but happy noise when he turned a corner and saw light shining at the end. Holy _ shit _ ! Had he come out on the other side of the _ mountain_? He quickly realized however, that the only reason he managed to see the light? Was because one of the trio had pushed a heavy curtain of something off the cave entrance as they’d slipped through. What was covering the entrance? Could it be vines or plants? Stiles could feel a lot of plants and vines underneath his boots. He could even smell the flora and fauna around him. As a second body moved past the vines, there was another flash of light that highlighted all the greenery growing around him.

Stiles hurried forward, panting and shouting, “Wait!”

But the people he had been pursuing for who knew how long were now beyond sight and out of range. He had to get to the other side.

Stiles ran face first into the vines, his hands looking for some place where the vines gave way. His hands slipped through the thick tendrils, struggling to push himself through the heavy plants. Desperation made him clumsy as his brain screamed at him to try harder. These people were Scott’s last chance. And Stiles would never forgive himself is he let this chance slip away. 

Suddenly, he was falling forward. Instinct brought his hands forward but he still wound up with his cheek smacking painfully against the hard rock under his feet. Head ringing, Stiles lay on the cool rock and decided to take a quick break. He was going to lie there on the flat rock and breathe in the cool air and wait for the bells in his head to stop clamoring. 

Overhead, a bird screeched loudly. Its cry was mirrored by another, and another bird. Stiles groaned before he began to push himself up on his knees, the whole right side of his face screaming in pain that echoed all the way down his chest. Great. Just what he needed – a bruised face on top of everything else! He glanced down at his palm and cringed. It looked awful. There were tons of tiny scratches on his palm that were sluggishly oozing blood. In fact, his hand looked a bit swollen. But he could flex it with relative ease. All it needed was a clean-up and some wrapping. As for his cheek…Pressing a hand to his cheek with a wince, Stiles decided to stand up and see where he was. 

As he straightened up, Stiles promptly forgot how to breathe.

He was standing on a ledge from where he could see a lush green valley spreading out before him. It was the kind of view that Tolkien had dreamed of -- an emerald green valley hidden between mist and snow wreathed mountains. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen so many trees in one place in all his life. And right in the middle of the valley was a large city. At the heart of it lay an open circular area which gave way to buildings that stretched all the way to the other sound of the valley.

On his left side, Stiles noted, were rows upon rows of neatly marked out fields. It looked like crops had been planted as well. The greenery was broken here and there with purple spots, or a lighter shade of green that meant freshly planted crops. Stiles wondered what the purple patches were. Were they fields of flowers? Lavenders maybe? Near the fields were several barns and a fenced space that Stiles assumed was for training horses. He thought he could make out a few brown and black blobs nearby that could be horses. 

To the right, Stiles saw orchards. He wondered what kind of fruits the valley dwellers had grown. He could see figures moving between the trees. Another cry overhead pulled Stiles’ gaze up. His jaw dropped when he saw a large griffon circling overhead before it flapped its mighty wings and disappeared into the mist that crowned the mountains. Stiles turned his awed gaze back to the valley. Just behind and to the left of the city lay a vast forest, dense and deep green. It appeared to run for several miles. It appeared different than the orchards. Those trees had probably been there when then city people had arrived to the valley.

He grew aware of a distant rumbling noise gurgling right underneath him. Cautiously, Stiles approached the edge and stared down into a large lake. Its water course came from a lazy waterfall gushing sluggishly out of the mountain. From the lake extended a long curving river that passed through the city and onto the other side of the valley. In the pre-dawn hour, the city seemed asleep and without life. It looked like a dream. Like a fantasy. 

“It can’t be,” Stiles whispered, feeling his knees grow weak as he took a step away from the edge, “It can’t.”

Was this… 

Had he accidentally found the city? 

Had Stiles found Haven?

Before he could take another step back, Stiles heard someone dropping down behind him. There was the clear sound of shoes scuffing against rock. 

Turning around on his heel to face the newcomer, Stiles saw gold eyes, fangs and a fist flying into his face before going under.

**Author's Note:**

> If there's any tag I've missed, please let me know!


End file.
